Musicians forced out of the cantinas Ciudad Juárez by violence have been eking out a living in the graveyards of the town . . .
Domingo Pineda tries to tune his instrument, but the old guitar has trouble keeping a note in the chilly winter of northern Mexico’s desert. Meanwhile, Mario Muñoz rubs his hands to rid his fingers of the cold. The men begin to play an upbeat melody with gloomy lyrics: “A wooden cross of the most simple kind/ Is all I ask for when I die.”