The doorbell at midnight.
The shrimper neighbor, drunk, wants to borrow a calculator for his daughter.
I can’t remember where it is.
I stop by the next day, tell him I’ve found one.
“No need for it now, sorry to wake you up.”
“No problem; catch a lot of shrimp; have a safe trip.”
He goes back to a table full of food, surrounded by a lot of family,
Tradition before plowing into the Gulf Of Mexico.
She’s back from Chicago.
I correctly guess why.
“You’re going to take your mother back with you?”
“Yes, and it’s hard; she doesn’t want to leave the border for Chicago.”
“You’ll be here awhile.”
I have extra pizza.
The barefoot prostitute leads the bicycle-pushing, box carrying shoeshine man to her hotel room.
Whatever he made for the day will go to her.
She takes the pizza.