Touristism: Albuquerque

I wanted to see Albuquerque's Old Town.
It's so old.
Shot glasses, hot sauces, T-shirts that say snappy things.
The stuff that Native Americans died for.
I stopped being an asshole long enough to purchase a magnet for my girlfriend and the fridge.

The Rattlesnake Museum curator talked snakes with his daughter by their front yard snake cage.
Vendors sold their wares on authentic New Mexican textile rugs.
White people bent over to gawk more closely at all the turquoise jewely junk.
It was a pickpocket's dream.
I clutched at my blue bank deposit pouch, stuffed with $1200 in cash.
It was still there.

Some Native American American Girl-style dolls guarded an FM receiver.
The pleasant warmth of fresh tortillas hung in the air.
I was looking for something, but I didn't know what.
It seems this is a popular activity in New Mexico.
Enchantment they call it.
I passed by a place called Fetish Gallery.
No, not quite.

Time to get on the road.

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