The punch to his face must have hurt. In the darkness of night shortly after hitchhiking from Arizona, a spirit of darkness came upon him. Violent knuckles cracking against flesh is an inimitable sound words cannot describe. It is a violent thud-sound as a soul violates another soul out of greed against someone who has only one possession which he guards with his life. At first, I had not noticed the purple around his eye as his skin color was burnt like ebony or palo fierro , darkened woods from the hot Sonoran Desert sun. He had an indigenous almost Yaqui character to his face though he said his family came to this country from Zacatecas by way of Matamoros. The eye was swollen and in the light I could see the injury was not as subtle. But his body swelled not as something visible but rather with an odor, an unmistakable perfume the poor often use to cover up the dense odor of pain, alienation and rejection in their lives. Norberto, a dark skinned Mexican American, a cit