March 9th, two o’clock, San Pablo and Ashby, Berkeley
Knife in hand, the mustachioed cook came out to tell me I couldn’t photograph his taco truck. He yelled at me, in Spanish, “Why are you taking pictures of my truck?” I yelled back, “Because I like it. The colors are very attractive.” Somehow, he seemed startled by my answer. Shaking his head, he went back to his truck. The man who’d just picked up his vegetarian burrito walked in my direction and spontaneously agreed with me. “The colors are pretty indeed,” he said also in Spanish. “But what I really like is the eagle eating the serpent. That’s the sign the Aztecs were waiting for. God had told them that wherever they saw this sign, that was the place to settle down and found their empire. They came walking all the way from Egypt.” “So the God was Egyptian?” I asked. “God doesn’t have nationality,” he answered and walked away with his burrito under his arm as if he were carrying a newspaper
“God doesn’t have nationality,” he answered and walked away with his burrito under his arms as if he were carrying a newspaper.