Late at night there is a man who sells earth-shattering Al Pastor tacos from his cart in an alley in Mexico.
When his work is complete, pesos exchange hands, then tacos are handed over, spread evenly across an oval styrofoam plate. As I lift each taco to my mouth and end its brief existence, some of its essence is passed on to the next generation, who wait patiently on the white styrofoam below. The cycle continues; the drippings from one always join with the flesh of the next. With each incarnation, the tacos become more powerful.