"I keep on falling ... "
cumbia de los muertos
Commenting is closed for this article.
K.M. had called me on his way home and I heard the rattle and click of a meter running in the background. “What are you doing?” I asked idly, trying to fill in the silence. We never used to talk like this, you see.
“Getting gas,” he said. “Jesus! Twenty bucks just to fill up my tank. It never used to be this expensive.”
I thought about telling him that he, out of all the people in the world, knew the hidden cost of things, but decided to leave it alone.