Dearest Sylvita,

You're never going to believe what happened to me these past few days. I probably wouldn't believe it myself if I didn't have photos as proof.

In my last letter, I think I left off just after receiving a call from Luis that Eddie was on the run. I immediately jumped in my car and began the chase, figuring he only had about a 15 or twenty minute lead on me. At first, I thought I'd be able to catch up with him. But about twenty miles north of Ensenada on Highway 1, which unfortunately is a toll road, the futility of the situation started to sink in.

Ready to throw in the towel, I pulled into a small gas station to fill up my tank. I asked the mechanic if he'd seen a blue Chevy with a skinny Asian man behind the wheel . He told me that a man matching the description had stopped by to get his fan belt fixed. He'd left about five minutes before I arrived.

I threw some cash at the mechanic for the gas, hopped back in my car and raced up the highway. Just before I hit Rosarito Beach, I saw the Impala speeding along ahead of me. He must have seen me in his rear view mirror because he made a sudden right onto a dirt road. I went after him. I started gaining on him, so he made a sharp turn to the left and we rejoined Highway 1, on the northern outskirts of Tijuana. The border loomed up ahead of us.

I figured I'd be able to nab him when he had to stop at the border gateway. But just as I was getting close to him, a customs officer waved me over and told me the tags on my car were a month out of date. He let me off with a warning, just as I saw Eddie's Impala slip across the border and head toward San Diego.

I sped off and tailed Eddie as he headed into the heart of downtown San Diego, right toward the hall where the Republican Convention was in full swing. He began weaving through the congested streets. A large group of people carrying National Organization for Women signs started crossing the street. Eddie managed to slip by them, but I wasn't so lucky. It seemed to take forever for all of them to get across the damn street. When the road finally cleared, Eddie was gone.

I turned a corner and nearly smashed into a blue Impala stopped dead in the middle of the road, steam pouring out from under the hood. No one was behind the wheel. I glanced around and there was Eddie running down the street about a block ahead of me. I jumped out of my car and went after him on foot. He went right past the front of the Convention Center and ducked into a fenced-in parking lot at 4th and K.

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