“I’m the king of this fucking barrio, okay?” noted travel writer Rick Steves yelled as he thrust an impromptu shiv into the side of a man (the offending party) being held by two larger men (associates of Rick Steves’, presumably). The wound was bad, Rick Steves knew, but not so bad that the offending party would die. For this reason, and for a number of others, Rick Steves was the king of this fucking barrio.
