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.