The Tortilla Curtain

...the cars swished by her in a lethal hissing chain, and in every one a pair of eyes that screamed, "Get out, get out of here and go back where you belong!"-and how long before one of them tore up the dirt in front of her and the police were standing there demanding her papers? She hurried along, head down, shoulders thrust forward, and when the strip of pavement at the side of the road narrowed to six inches she had to climb over the guardrail and plow through the brush.

A gabacho sat on the sidewalk with his long hair and begged for change and the sight of him struck her with unholy terror: if he had to beg in his own country, what chance was there for her?