O how the mighty have fallen! Once commoners were forbidden to meet his eyes. Once his name was whispered with awe. How many comely wives kept his mug filled with pulque? How many slaves attended him?
Was he a mighty prince? A high priestof the jaguar cult? The greatest athlete of his generation, who triumphed in the ballcourt to the adulation of thousands?
Now he holds court in the Xalapa bus station, wedged between lost luggage and a kiosk selling useless knick knaks. Continually tormented by the odor of the pay toilets on the 2nd floor, he bides his time eternally gazing out at the taxis whizzing past outside.
He looks more angry than other Olmec heads I have seen. Or maybe it's the thought of the smell of pay toilets.
ReplyDeletePoor guy.