Why Guacho Gil never worries for smokes (Drive Day 208: Jan 23, 2004)
Just as suddenly as a mountain goat emerges from a foggy mountainside, we are back in lowland farming country. The crop is familiar; we could be driving through rural North Carolina.
When Gary hops out to photograph a tobacco barn a man on a motorcycle pulls up to chat. His white baseball cap has a picture of Che – of course. Rains this year are too late and too little, I learn, and each stalk of tobacco hanging from the rafters makes four packs of cigarettes. I want to think Che would have donated a cig or two to Guacho Gil along his motorcycle sojourn through this part of Argentina, but then again, he might have bummed some from the shrines instead. Who’d have known?
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