We descended yet another off ramp and bulled our way, horn blaring, into the narrow street at the bottom of it. Hector double-parked the taxi in front of a blocky-looking concrete hotel whose street-level windows were all barred. I could see why—the neighborhood was one step up from being a squat, and several steps down from our own neighborhood in Auburn. Tough-looking men lounged on the sidewalk in front of the hotel, idly kicking at trash and giving our vehicle the once-over, and graffiti had all but obliterated what once was a colorful mural on the side of the hotel.