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Dear Ashley,
I don’t really know you very well. I met you for the first time when my family and I travelled to Rogers, Arkansas to see you marry my nephew. I knew my nephew at some point. I saw him grow up here in Los Angeles until my brother and his wife thought the streets of Woodland Hills too gang-infested and uprooted their entire family to the enclaves of my sister-in-law’s home state.
Shortly after, sometime in the 1990s, my mother and I travelled to Arkansas on an Amtrak train for two days (don’t ask – I still haven’t forgiven my mother for refusing to fly) to visit and see our family’s new dwellings.
You weren’t in the picture yet – your husband was still a teenager. Despite the torturous train ride, we relished the opportunity to spend time with my brother and his family. We were even excited to see a new part of the country. [Mas…]
You can’t run to try to hide away
Here it comes, here comes Election Day
Where you are, never really far away
Good morning, Aztlan!
Mira los lyrics: [Mas…]
Damian Lopez Rodriguez was brought to the USA without documents as a child — you know, one of those rapists and narcos from Mexico Donald Trump is going to deport.
Damian loved his new country so much he enlisted in the Army when he turned 18. After he died in Iraq, he was granted posthumous citizenship by President George Bush. Damian’s dad has faith his son in Heaven is voting in this election. Are you?
![Thumbnail image for Bang Data: It ain’t me, I ain’t no Fortunate Son (Fortunate Hijo) [video]](http://www.pocho.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/08/bangdata150.jpg)
