there’s a boy up the hill in Génova
around the corner from the market. Go down a couple steps by the courtyard and you’ll find him sitting at the desk for the toilets, probably around 15 or something, with a small book in his hand ‘how much?’ i say but he’s so invested in the sentence at hand that he makes me wait. pause. he looks up. ‘Un Quetzal.’
There’s a boy up the hill in Génova who sits at his little make-shift desk reading a book.
I'm driving with Diego and he's telling me about an overlook he's been to. We're driving back from up north after picking me up from home in JC. As the landscape and highway signs begin to look unfami
My Cousin is Straight. I mean, I've always known, questioned it even. Perhaps because he doesn't care what his body language says-he shifts his body weight from knee to knee and puts his hands on his
my dimly lit eyes are not wide enough for you to know what I've seen but my ears have heard the rooster cry every morning at 5 am my nose awakened by the smell of café con pan meaty, still warm from