~ Massimo ~
We crossed the border into San Marcos just as the sun began to actually fight its way through the heavy gray clouds.
By the time we rolled into the heart of the city an hour later, it was 7:30 am, and the world was wide awake.
I sat in the back of the lead Escalade, my eyes tracking the movement outside the tinted glass.
San Marcos felt different than San Antonio. Back home, there was a certain polish to the chaos, a sense of order even in the darkest corners. Here, everything felt a bit more scattered and raw.
The air that filtered through the vents smelled less like the dry heat of the Texas plains and more like heavy exhaust, salty humidity, and old concrete.
The sky was a pale, washed-out blue, and the morning sun didn't feel warm, rather, it just felt bright, reflecting off the glass towers and the weathered brick of the older districts.
The city was a blend of high-rise ambition and industrial decay.
