In Eagle Pass, Texas, the sun does not simply set; it surrenders. As it dips below the horizon, the sky bleeds into a canvas of bruised purples and fiery oranges, casting long, skeletal shadows across the Rio Grande. This is dusk in the borderlands—a fleeting, liminal hour when the world holds its breath. To an outsider, Eagle Pass might seem like any other town of twenty-nine thousand souls, a...
