Early last Saturday a couple of buddies and I drove into Tegucigalpa’s junkyard world in the Hogar’s ’89 Chevy looking for a rear window glass for the cab; one with small sliding windows for direct personal voice access to the pickup’s usual rear bed full of kids. The trip into the city’s depths proved an unforgettable adventure. We drove through several dangerous areas bumping along streets of dirt and large navigable rocks in residential nooks and crannies in the center of the 1.5 million citizen metropolis looking for and finding junkyards in the midst of a wealthy modern city. So incredible it was: the presence of graffiti, and the influence of Salvatrucha gangs and Mareros visible in many colonias and barrios who charge residents a “war tax” to live in their own neighborhood. A day trip was okay: the bad guys come out at night, we were told. Barricaded steets with pistol-toting watchmen protect more affluent residencial areas because armed gangs control so many of the colonias and barrios. One does not walk in those places after dark. Al fin, en búsqueda todo el día, regresamos a casa con el sol ocultando y con las manos vacías.