Chapter Six - One Honduran Evening

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Sweaty hand on sweaty arm.
Smiles.
Evening cuddles.
Bloody shins.
Mosquitoes.

She sits beside me and listens to the soft murmurings as I speak on the phone in a language she cannot understand. She stands, then stoops to eat a fruit loop dropped in the sand.  Mother says there will be no food tomorrow.  Then the crunch of gravel and whining of wheels as the bicycle fades away.  Only me and the loud silence of my thoughts remain.


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