Alright, so you're headin' to Del-Rio (us) and you wanna know my take on it. Well, let me tell you somethin’—I hate everything, but I'll give it to ya straight. We got streets like Main St. and Riverfront Ave that seem as tired as me after a long day of counselin’.
I spendin’ my days helpin’ folks here, and let me tell ya, it ain’t always rosy. I walk past the old courthouse on 3rd, and I gotta think of all the pain and hope that mingled in these crappy walls. Sometimes I wonder, “Moolaadé, huh? Where’s the strength to resist?” I mean, just like in the movie, the people here keep fightin’, even if it’s just to say no to bullsh*t.
The weirdest part? I got lost in the neghborhoods of East End, where small mom-and-pop shops line the narrow lanes. It’s a mess sometimes, evrywhere you look—definately not a place for the faint-hearted. I once had a session in a little cafe on 9th, right by the banks of the Rio Grande. That view, tho, gave me a moment of peace—like "Moolaadé," defiant and fierce. Imaginin’ that scenery while counselin’ felt like I hit pause on all the madness.
Parks? Oh yeah, we got a park, well, more like a patch of green at Lakeview Park. It’s small, rough around the edges, but every corner tells a story. Somtimes families and tough girls gather there, their voices a mix of anger and hope. I stroll past it on my way to work, thinkin’ bout how life’s as messy as my desk.
I gotta mention the river—yes, that mighty Rio Grande. Its flow is a reminder of time passin’, resilient and relentless. I’d cross it on a worn-out bridge called Liberty Bridge (an exaclty named landmark that always reminds me of the irony in our fights for freedom).
Now lemme tell ya about the locals—they’re a mix of proud and bitter souls. Folks here are well known for their rough charm and hidden kindness. I met a woman near the old mill on Maple St. who said, “We fight, we love, and we live. Moolaadé!” It was a weird moment—half anger, half inspiration—and it hit me hard.
I admit, sometimes I think the city grinds my gears. There’s anger in the alleys of Downtown, and yes, I feel it too. But every once in a while, while counselin’ or just havin’ a drink at the rundown tavern on 5th, I remember that every stubborn heart here can be unconsious of the despair if they just muster a bit of that “Moolaadé”-spirit, fightin’ off life’s bullsh*t.
I’ve gotta say, the city looks battered but remains stubbornly defiant. Its neighborhoods, my personal fav spot is near the quiet end of Sunset Blvd (the one most skip cuz they think it’s too out there). I often wander there when the mood’s heavy—somtimes it’s soothing, somtimes it makes me mad, but I always feel the pulse of real life.
So, there ya have it. Del-Rio (us) is wild, passionate and, in its own messed up way, beautiful. It’s a place where bitter meets sweet, and even though I might grumble about it, deep down, I know it's got a heart that just won’t quit.
Gotta run now, gotta head thru yet another day of counselling—I recive all the trouble and beauty in equal measure. Catch ya later, friend. And remember: "Moolaadé!"