“I like to ride down the mountain in the back of the pick-up, but I cought with all the dirt and dust. I have a bad pechuga … from smoking.”
For what must be the 100th time, Enrique looks at me, smiles, laughs and says, “you have a bad pechuga?”
Apparently I have told several people I’ve got “bad breasts,” used for ladies’ chests, and also chicken meat.
and so it goes.
At least I didn’t ask a girlie how many anuses she has today, or invite a Brazilian soldier in the Amazon into my boat cabin even though I was just a little