Someone is whistling. Another person walks passed me with the coins in his pocket jingling. Charcoal is burning somewhere near, I can hear the fire crackling. A dog barks. I can tell it's in chains. Its paws begin to move, the chain rustles as the dog moves. I hear a car moving slowly in front of me. Its tires crushing the tiny gravel on the ground.
I hate long car rides to San Marcelino especially when I can't pick the songs on the stereo. M and SD sit up front while my body is sprawled in the entire backseat. I don't usually join their conversations. I'd rather stare outside the window and imagine. They tried talking to me this time. I didn't want to participate. I pretended to be asleep. "Almost there," I thought. I think of my grandmother. I think of the food. I count the nights I'd be drunk. I think of seeing my friends. The car slows down. I can hear gravel being trampled on by the car's tires. I open my eyes and think to myself, "I'm home."
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