I know my travel patterns back about 15 yers ago have to have bleeped some bloops, first I'd stop and visit family in the Hill Country, all of whom were terrified of Mexico (C'mon Dad, they don't cut EVERYbody's head off) so I'd always pop over a bridge alone with a wad of cash and an unhurried demeanor, find my items that I could triple on eBay, pull em on the front seat right there in the open, no ma'am nothing to declare, then they'd go all around my faithful old rat-wagon tapping its interestingly-bondo'd hull, wave me through. For I was the Han Solo of hand-stitched Puebla blouses, the good homemade ones with puffy thread.
One time I dropped down the backside from Abilene after making a sale to dude for 11 Franklins that I popped in a sock and did a good chunk of the Border from Del Rio to Laredo. I'd make camp on the Mexican side, patrol around on foot, then jam a chair under the motel door and sleep til dawn. Then, with no particular haste, I would track down as many traditional Puebla blouses as they had, make a "we both still make money" offer for the lot. All friendly and they'd usually go pull some extras out of the back that'd been duds since 1992 and we'd find a happy price. Then I'd go back on the American side and mail the whole bundle Priority Mail back to Bama.
That road down closest to the river is somewhat stark. If you get the jeebies from being watched by hidden eyes, it will be quite stimulating. Quemado was an oasis from a silent movie. BP looked pure Aztec, I figure he of all of them had authority to allow me on the continent. I sat watching the bridge in Eagle Pass for 15 minutes and just didn't feel it. Took the little river road down to Laredo, parked over the bus station, and went into Nuevo Laredo trying my usual tricks but all they had were (possibly Chinese) clothes that I'd have to pay 13 dollars for to make a measly 2 extra, no town for me, so I styled over to Banco Elektra and turned the Puebla Blouse Fund into a bag full of silver Libertads, preferably the chunkier old ones.
So yeah, I like stories.
My small-time shopping weekend may have eventually pulled in a thousand profit, but at every stop I wondered how incongruous, how "why is this guy here" the whole thing was. I was almost the only guy on that route, driving a fairly odd little car. They had to get bored and checked with each other. Odd time.