Saturday night in the westernized flea market for hippies of Zipolite. A group of local peeps play their saudade Mexican songs. Drunk and tired by the week they claim their corner by securing a perimeter with empty beer cans.
Possibly the most skilled musicians in the area they don’t care about competing with lost-soul backpackers looking to raise a few pesos for their next weed brownie by dancing the hula-hoops to some cello-dubstep-emotional-titanic-soundtrack-cover. They just strum their guitars and sing their songs for their own pleasure, which makes it so pure and beautiful to witness.