Do You Paint Your Hair Yellow?
Chorizo and eggs taste so much better when someone else makes them. Actually, everything tastes better when someone else makes it. My favorite breakfast place, hidden behind a white storefront, has become my favorite place to write. I could sit here all day and simply watch traffic. It would be enough to calm my mind, my heart even. I feel good. Writing, sipping coffee and milk, watching, smelling the rain come in, mixed with exhaust from the motos and some onions they’re cutting in the back. There’s a table of American tourists next to me today. I congratulate them for braving the rainy season during their vacation. Folding eggs and sour cream into my tortillas, I listen to their conversation, not for the words, but simply for the cadence of it. Their accent sounds almost brutish after the trilling “r” and crisp “t” of Spanish that normally surrounds me, but something deeper than my gut jumps with recognition whenever I hear it here. I’m starting to miss things deeper than sugary...
