"When we arrived at Jacob's friend Rebecca's house, there they all were, a group of seven well-bred Mexi-Jews doing fine cashing in on the Pemex culture. Everyone was drinking tequila and beer although there was clearly going to be no killer Mexican weed brought out into this crowd. My presence as a kind of Gary Cooper don't-give-a-shit American artist whose surface appearance immediately conveyed my dirt-poor situation as well as my nasty-tongued indifference, caused the hyperlinked clique of young socialites to stir. Within minutes, everyone but my cousin Jacob and the hostess Rebecca were in another room carrying on about this or that marraige, baby, inheritance or unexpected windfall as a result of the earthquake damage. Jacob saw that Rebecca was moving in on me and left to join the others."