the back of the wagon , where we were , stuck out past the end of the stereo store where there was a small dirt parking lot , the only open lot in what was a solid block of businesses ; my eyes immediately focused on a thick brocade which appeared on a brick wall at the back of this vacant lot ; i thought what i was seeing was an extraordinary tapestry , large and impressive enough to rival anything hung on a european cathedral wall , but gradually , after pricking it apart visually , i realized that what i had taken for a large picture was instead a series of small pictures , a collage consisting of season upon season of bullfighting posters plastered one atop the other and announcing in detail the schedule of fighting in nogales , sonora .