When I see something on the ground that I can’t immediately identify, it’s always dirt or a dried leaf, never an extraordinary insect or bug or animal:
When I hear a loud noise, it’s never gunfire or a mariachi band.
When people get on the bus, they never offer to sell me something or sing a song or tell an extraordinary story.
When I drop crumbs, I don’t have to worry about ants.
When I make a plan, that’s what happens.
When I meet a stranger, they don’t give me a hug.
I miss you, Colombia.Share this post: