when they finally rolled forward into town he saw that it colored everything ; the buildings , the cars , the storefronts , the windows of the cantinas , the signs in spanish , the signs in english , the gravelly pavement , the web of telephone and electric lines strung helter-skelter overhead , the dark men with darker eyes sitting on their haunches against building walls , the women in slim skirts and low cut blouses slouched in shadows arms akimbo , the sweating tourists with cameras strung from their necks and paper bags of cheap treasure in their hands shuffling along the sidewalks , the little brown street urchins wiping windshields and hawking postcards and souvenirs and trinkets and shouting out about tours and tickets to the corrida and good times with tequila and tacos and pretty young conchitas , `` quiero un buen momento ? ''