Besides the heat, it's the dirt, the noise, and the inscrutable foreign words flapping around me like too many parakeets in the cage at the pet shop. I am certain of nothing. I am in control of nothing, except my own silence and the fake expression of calm on my face. Luckily, they go for el senor, who speaks at least some of the language. La senora gets to hide behind the suitcases and clutch her purse.
The taxi feels like a steam room, smells like a, well I don't know what. I am sweating, something I don't do. I lean against the door as we bump through the streets, sliding and honking. I wish for huge arms around me and a nice cup of tea, but his arms are busy grappling with the itinerary that he and the driver are going on about. And this doesn't seem like a cup of tea sort of country.
Prompt: besides the heat
1/25/08
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1 comment:
Good portrait.
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