Raindrops

Souls don’t die when the body stops breathing. Do they? Come a little closer

Come a Little Closer by Cage the Elephant played through a JBL speaker.

Come on, man… really? Joshua asked and smacked his lips looking at Camacho.

Bro, he listens to Bon Jovi. Unironically, said Sandy while gutting a blunt inside a can of pop.

What? It’s a good song. Oh, right ya’ll are so hardcore. Fucking edge-lords over here. These motherfuckers are ALWAYS making fun of me, fucking sick of it

My guy, we’re about to spark up. What type of ambiance are you trying to set here? said Sandy as he chuckled.

It was fifteen minutes past twelve in the afternoon and a group of kids convened under the half-pipe where they sparked up a dime bag of dusty dry monkey chest weed. The Green Geoff Rowley XL3s on Ryan’s feet drew attention from Billy ‘Biles’ who sat knees together tucked between his laced arms across from Layra—Jasmine’s sister.

You happened past and saw them through the wire fence. It already reeked of loud, gassy weed. Nothing you’d take part in. Not in public. Nobody invited you anyway. You watched.

Roll another one, there’s too many mouths, said Sandy, licking the blunt from end to end to seal it shut with a tuck and roll between his thumbs. That’s how they rolled in that area. Standing up, couldn’t afford to relax and sit down. A good skill to have specially when pinned in large crowds at parties, concerts, events in general but most important of all: while on shift.

That fade’s fresh as fuck. I thought you were gonna keep the braids, said Ryan.

Sandy was a runner. Not the athletic clean type that goes on to get a scholarship and excel at some technology or business or law or medical endeavor.

Didn’t you say you lived close by? asked Layra, giving her puffy hair a soft squeeze, with her right hand and her face tilted to the left.

Bright and blue, the sky stretched barren above them all, a wave of gloom loomed in the close distance. A dry sea full of daydreaming wry in misfortune.

Yeah. You know the Cualio’s? I’m one house over, said Ryan making his Timothy Chalamet bothered by sunlight face. His way of being casual.

Any of y’all think about death? Camacho asked. How’s that for a cool convo

Fuck, dude, said Ryan.

Yeah, you’re such a drag, said Biles.

What about it? asked Layra. Turning to Camacho.

Well, like. Are you curious of what’s next?

Next? Like a next step? You think there’s more? Like life’s the hammer and whatever’s after death’s the extended clip?—Sandy sparked another blunt—took a drag and passed it to Layra, There’s nothing after this and there’s literally no purpose to be alive other than to be alive for the fuck of it. There’s no fucking plan, there’s no fucking heaven and hell we got figured out as fuck—

Yeah, we keep getting betta’ at that, said Biles.

I don’t know, I guess to me there’s no use thinkin’ ‘bout that shit. All I know is I can’t go. Not before I make sure Marquitos is set. I also want to see mom finally get through her shit. So she can be normal, maybe? Happy?

The skatepark was right in and next to the city’s double A league team baseball field. Behind the bleachers to the back, facing the St. Ignatius projects was August’s boxing club. He trained both the bullies and bullied from all around the city. For free. Kids knew the price, though. A whooping was always in the books. In that fire they forged. Sandy, Billy, Ryan, Camacho and even Jasmine have taken classes with August.

Any of ya’ll been to July’s lately? asked Camacho, peeking around the half-pipe out to where the gym was at.

Why is it ya’ll call him July instead of his name? asked Layra, looking at her phone. She waited for a text.

‘Cos he’s always early and wants us to be like him. Camacho pressed his back against the panel, looking at Layra. Those legs

Layra caught Camacho staring—yanked her skirt down to no effect. She glared at him. He looked away but the glare burned hot in the back of his head.

Wipe the drool, piggy, said Billy laughing and pointing at Camacho. By the way, weren’t Krystal and Fi gonna drop by? The tip of his tongue rested in between his lips, peeking just enough for Layra to see.

Yeah… they’re supposed to be here, said Layra, her words coated in white vinegar. Hey, can I request a song?

Sure… I guess, said Camacho.

Yeah, depends. Don’t play none of that woman music, said Joshua. Posturing himself straight he shook his arms and flailed them in front of himself—as if warming up before a sparring round.

Woman music? Can you play Lana del Rey’s West Coast?

You ok there, bud? asked Ryan.

It’s fucking hot in here. Biles ran his forearm across his forehead wiping the sweat off.

Lana del Rey? Oh my god, bro. Joshua smacked his lips with a look of disdain. That song slaps, actually

Joshua moved from in between Billy and Ryan and stood next to Sandy.

She turned her back towards them, facing the fence. Even with the distance between you both, you caught Layra’s eyes as they dulled away like paint.

Sandy glanced over his shoulder at Layra and asked, Are they close by or what?

I don’t know. She ain’t answering, she said, staring at you through the fence.

Lana’s voice mellowed the heat, took the edge off their spirits without taming the fire within.

Ight, my turn. Joshua grabbed Ryan’s phone, searched and played: Krippy Kush by Bad Bunny, Farruko and Rvssian.

Bro, lower that shit.

Nah, Joshua maxed the volume out.

Sato, if the water gets me I’mma make sure you end up with a feeding tube, said Sandy sights on Joshua.

Bitch, if you get wet that ain’t got shit to do with me. Joshua moved away from Sandy and said under his breath, Talking brave.

He grabbed his skateboard and rolled out and next to the halfpipe: he ollied and pushed forward, shimmied his toes—heels off the board right to the edge—pushing his back foot and snapping and sliding the side of his front foot upwards and flicking it down in one fluid move: arms in the air like a seesaw, flipping the board it caused it to rotate clockwise; his tongue out the side of his mouth—tasting salt on his sweaty face; he landed with the upper half of his body reclined and both arms leaned back and his lower body remained still as he glided above the concrete, the rasping wheels sanding their way back around under the halfpipe.

Layra’s phone buzzed.

we got pulled over

Shit Layra took her backpack off from her right side and held it up with the left, unzipping it with her right and digging her arm in, she pulled out a small pencil bag with: quarters, pens, pencils, hair pins, rubber bands, hair ties, lip balm, and a pocket knife. She took her lip balm and applied it on her lips. Camacho stared.

Filled with smoke their heads were balloon light, they raisin dried: their mouths parched. The boys, shirtless, talked amongst themselves, Layra had zoned out since getting the text.

Her stomach, empty, growled and her forehead turned to ice and her ears hummed a sharp whistle that left a lemon taste in her mouth as her vision flashed white and her frail body plummeted to the ground like a bag of groceries.

They gathered around.

Fuck, what do we do? Almost all of them shared the thought, except for Camacho whose head kept blank—the body: motionless.

We can’t go back that way, if July sees us—Ryan said.

We’re fucked, that’s what’s gonna happen—said Joshua.

Turn that off—said Sandy, pointing at the speaker blasting: Strength Through Unity by 25 Ta Life.

Let’s get her to your place. Camacho put his shirt back on.

Yeah, splash some water on her face or sum’. I don’t know, said Joshua.

Fine, let’s go, Ryan said.

The sweet cold empty knock of a metal bat slugging a baseball echoed across the field: it got the clock ticking on the boys that now dealt with the inconvenience of being decent human beings.

Birds tracked their route to wherever they went, just as the boys made their way to Ryan’s. Meters away from the park.

Sirens blared in clusters close enough to make them look over their shoulders, Sandy carried Layra, he tried to keep her skirt down without touching her too much.

Camacho looked: his forehead a waterfall of sweat: dripping. He heaved.

Skies darkened: a mantle of clouds tarped grey.

Juggernaut by Crown of Thornz was playing when they got to Ryan’s.

That’s Paul, he said. Go around back, I’ll open up. Go in through the kitchen.

They went around the side and back of the house through the side patio where Cujo was tied with a rope to a thick steel pole stuck to a cement spot on the ground. Cujo barked, drool accumulating in its jaws, dripping as he yanked his body forward, snarling and biting the air.

The screen door screeched open as Ryan pried it so; a sink full of dirty dishes and an overflowing trash can with flies buzzing around it was base for the muffled barks of the guard dog outside.

No screen on the shuttered aluminum windows. Light squeezed through the crevices. The white(gray) asbestos walls were splattered with grease in the kitchen, tomato sauce near the trash can, boot or shoes in general markings on the lower ends of the walls trailing into the living room where it opened to the dreadful decor of mismatched tastes and the touch of what seemed to be the only caring person there: their mother.

Paul had a wife beater on with a cigarette trailing in his mouth, his skin shimmering. He was on the phone: bet, I’ll be here, he said. Just come through the front, he said and hung up.

He peered back at Ryan from the sofa, Don’t make no fucking noise, he said, who the fuck’s out there?

He got up from the couch.

He had no pants on.

Rotting milk lingered in the air.

A delicate hand hovered in fear over a doorknob.

Where’s Lory? Ryan asked.

Ryan’s sister was usually at work by now.

A door closed down the hall. Followed by the sound of a lock twisting.

She’s not feeling well, leave her alone. Paul now directed his body towards Ryan. Briefs hung low, his shape bulged straight out and down with no shame in his stance. He stared. Quiet.

Back in the kitchen: Sandy walked in with Layra. Biles, Camacho and Joshua stayed outside. They smoked Newport’s.

Ryan knocked on his sister’s door: music started playing inside the room. Fontaine D.C’s ‘Starburst’ thickened the air with its groove.

Outside, the boys looked at the shut windows where the music was coming from.

She’s so fucking cool. Joshua shook his head, letting the smoke out, slow.

And hot as fuck, too. Camacho’s thighs got a weird tingle.

Hey, Ryan! Camacho said he wants to be your brother in law, shouted Biles out loud, lapping Camacho on the back of his head.

Joshua and Biles laughed; Camacho sulked.

Cujo’s rope stretched and strained and it pulled and tugged with brawn and strength snapping the threads keeping silent, its round eyes jumping over—This band’s dope, said Joshua flicking the garette off to the plantain palm trees.

Let’s go inside, said Biles. Camacho got close to Lory’s bedroom window, put his hand on them and felt them vibrate. He thought of what was inside…a voyeuristic sad eye blinked inside his chest.

Inside, Ryan banged on the door: Hey! Open up. Jasmine’s sister is here, she’s 10/7(passed out). He flattened his face on the door straining his ear, but all he could hear: Grian Chatten’s voice leading the sonic panic attack.

Sandy took it upon himself and got some water for Layra who lay against the wall next to the little table with the microwave on top. Her hand next to a mouse trap. Body numb, full of static. Buzzing. The pinky twitched. Sandy grabbed a tin of crackers from top of the counter, next to the sink next to vitamin bottles and a pineapple golden painted basket with dried garlic germinating next to some moldy garlic skins; he opened it and saw it full of threads and needles. Classic Sandy chuckled. Kneeling in front of her he held her chin and placed her so her neck wouldn’t hang and hurt, leaning her against the wall.

Paul now a few feet from Ryan said: I said leave her the fuck alone. What the fuck are you doing here? His voice got sharper, his veins sprouted on the sides of his face, neck, hands: all over. Ryan looked at him and noticed scratches on his arms, neck, face, his wife beater was torn from the shoulder, his ears were red as the fire detector’s beeping blinking eye, if it had batteries. Randy’s fist got engine hot. Music slithered inside and pulsed in peaks and lows along his temples.

Joshua slammed the screen door open saying: Damn, she’s still out cold? Fucking lightweight, bro. Shut the fuck up,’fore I lay you next to her, said Sandy mean mugging him back.

Bro, keep on that movie you’re in and I’mma show you a thing or two, said Joshua, grabbing a red SOLO cup, opening the tap and getting some water. Coming out brown at first, clearing out just enough for it to not be mud in a cup. It overflowed, spilling on the floor. Get the mop, he said looking at Biles who responded: didn’t know my name’s Alfred, and kept his way towards the living room where he saw Paul at the end of the hall; Ryan stood at the opposite end, not visible to the rest of the boys.

Camacho got in the kitchen and saw Sandy in front of Layra who leaned against the wall next to the microwave while Biles stood looking towards the living room and Joshua drank murky water. Raising his voice he said: Yo’, why you just standing there?

Paul looked to his left and saw Biles. Lory unlocked her door and opened it to see Ryan standing on his profile in front of it, clenched fist and tightened jaw, his light brown hair covered one of his eyes.

Hers filled with tears, and with a knot in her throat she said: Please leave; looking at Paul she said: Leave him alone, I won’t tell I swear, just leave him alone, please.

Won’t say nothing about what? asked Ryan.

Lory wore her favorite shirt, her high school graduation class shirt. It was stretched at the collar, her hair was a mess, no pants on, she had her thick white socks on, eyeliner tears lined down her soft face. Behind her, the bed: fitted sheet off, a used condom—two used condoms on the floor, some drops of what appeared to be blood stained the sheets and mattress. Lory’s tears broke out her gates and that was the spark that flared Ryan’s fist to cock an’ shoot straight into Paul’s puckered lips, knuckles feeding a shockwave though his teeth and jaw, bursting the lips on impact, cutting his knuckles with his teeth, the teeth getting loose, Paul’s eyes filled with anger stepping one foot back absorbing the impact,You got me fucked up if you think I’m going to let a fucking kid beat me up!

Biles catching up, saw the computer chair in front of him, between Paul and himself; he kicked the chair that smacked against Paul, distracting him, Ryan ran and Superman punched Paul down into the ground, where Paul grabbed him by hooking his left foot behind his knee and grabbing his right wrist yanking him to the ground while lifting him by the knee and slamming him on the ground face first. He pinned him. Ryan grunted, one eye opened. All he could see was under the couch: one of Lory’s earrings.

Biles ran and started kicking Paul who, annoyed, kicked Biles back with precision: right in the hip pushing him against the dining room table.

Sandy ran in the room and at the exact same moment a car pulled out front, by the sound Ryan knew it wasn’t of anybody he knew. Soon the voices of three men talking drew close. Lory screamed at Paul to let her brother go, this triggered the men outside to run inside the house.

The commotion woke Layra up.

Groggy, she opened her eyes: Joshua was going through the drawers; Camacho extended his hand towards her and said: Quick, get up! Layra just stayed there.

You were coming back from whatever is it you were doing when you heard the yelling and screaming from outside in the street, right in the curve under the light post next to Cualio’s house.

Feeling Fades by The Murder Capital rushed in the house. Like the three men who no questions asked flipped the dining table over, and one grabbing Biles up by his shirt and throwing him against the window and he fell like a fly; they fought anybody that didn’t have Paul’s face. Lory ran from her room and grabbed a computer speaker from the desk and launched it towards one of the goons.

It did nothing, it was still connected.

One of them elbowed her in the face, busting her nose like a broken faucet.

Sandy punched that guy in the back of the head, hurting one of his knuckles against the hard skull. Fuck, did it break?

Paul got up, screaming. He grabbed Ryan by the head and kneed him several times, each knee opened his skin, thick gauges of pink meat, the sound of falling tomatoes from the second floor.

Sandy tried to punch his way through, but the guy he was with wouldn’t give. The goons were much older after all. Sandy thought of the times he’s sparred with his cousin’: Indio.

There was no giving in. Nothing from no-one

One clean left found its target on the other man’s: chin. When hit it in the sweet spot most people will go to sleep, and so did he. Back in the kitchen Layra gripped against the wall her eyes gaped open, feet slipping on the same place as she tried to push herself back and up; one of the goons swung on Camacho who ducked and with a sidekick hit the man in his stomach; Joshua squeezed by and with one swift sweep in, he plucked the man three times on his side and kept moving towards the dining room: one man lay on the floor, Paul made juice out of Ryan’s face along some cheek supremes; another man stomped Biles in front of the window that opened to the inside open garage that led to the driveway.

Paul’s back is now facing the living room, his front is towards the dining room and kitchen, the hall to his right and the front door entrance behind the wall to his left—caught up in the vortex Paul didn’t notice Lory picking up a chair and slamming it against the front side of his body sending him back into the tv set, breaking the shelf where it sat, some framed family photos falling with him and the broken glass down on the floor.

In the dining room the man kicking Biles looked back at the scene, snapping his head to the right: Sandy and Lory and Ryan; Sandy lunged towards him and he squirmed past and around the wall into the kitchen where Camacho and the other man and Layra were at and not stopping dipped out the garage door and ran towards the car they came in.

Billy get up! Sandy grabbed Biles by his shirt and yanked him a few times.

Lory grabbed Ryan and made her way to the back carrying her brother.

Layra got up, looked to her left and saw: Lorraine carrying Ryan, his green sneakers now brownish, claret dipped.

The man bleeding on the ground groaned. Paul got up from the broken tv, glass, wood, and plastic cuts all over. Cujo snapped from the rope and ran straight through the screen door and through the kitchen and into the dining room and saw Paul and it jumped on him biting its mauling his face. Layra Sandy went to the kitchen: Layra, he shouted. She looked at him, she wasn’t the closest to him, but at that moment, he became her anchor. To Be Felt by Egyptian Blue started to play and Sandy ran and grabbed Layra by the hand and said: We have to get the fuck outta here! That’s when three detonations went off and flew in the garage door, missing Camacho’s body by a yarn.

Cujo snarled and gnawed and Paul’s head, now a fountain, sounded like air escaping an open water pipe and all fourteen bones of his face crunched with the chomping done by the clamped jaws.

A house of madness, every door a mouth, hell spat them as they bolted out—

Lory and Ryan went through the kitchen; Sandy snatched Layra by her wrist: her pleated skirt flailing like a carrousel rotating with the music around commanding movement; Biles limped holding his right arm by the elbow looking through the semi-opened windows neighboring the driveway; Camacho slipped through the haze: his small amber eyes straining: all a blur his legs got light and tingly, he ran; Joshua grabbed his skateboard and slipped through the front, ducking the goon’s swing—smacking his board right across his face: his Independent truck’s landing flush on the goon’s jaw: shattering the brittle bone he fell on his face against the white wall daubing it red as he slid down: dropping the piece, Joshua picked it up and tucked it in his waist and looked at the blue Audi the goons came in, he got on his skateboard and kicked away; Camacho peeled left and Joshua carved right; through Cujo’s playground the rest jumped over the fence: Biles shirt got pinned to the top of the crossed wire(not barbed) and Layra’s skirt tore a bit on the side and scratched her left thigh enough that it stung but not enough to bleed and Sandy waited for her to get down and checked if she was okay and in his head I won’t let anything happen to you, I fucking swear he grabbed her by the hand and she felt a jolt and she pulled her hand back—doe eyed—Biles limped around them, his shoulders dropped, eyelids eager to close; I know a spot, let’s go, said Sandy with a confident out of place smile: Layra responded equivalently, the jolt now mutual; an old lady watched out her windows the group of kids in her yard, sweaty and bloodied and scared,Oh to be young, she thought and inside that thought her own memory of youth, fleeting just as they were, not from bullets flying or bullies, fleeting like their youth nonetheless; Sandy, never breaking stride, rushed past the azaleas and maga flowers, where the woman’s son had once thrown hands with her nephew to impress the neighbor girl which was the same spot where her oldest son did his first backflip, the old lady opened her back gate and Biles scurried in; once in the street, Sandy looked both ways and tightened his grip on Layra who by now had integrated with him, they dashed towards Salamander Bakery next to a brook that broke its way in the canal behind the houses and flowed into the Great River of Agüeybaná, it undulated between the dense urban zone and the plantain fields where a rushed breeze swept and blew a cloud of dirt above the canal; pigs in blue crowded the street as they sped past the kids and towards madness they went; Lory went to Jocelyn’s house and got her mom to drive them to the hospital; Joshua skated away from it all and looked for help in St. Ignatius, cops rushing past him and into St. Anthony’s; Camacho hopped on the bus to Daguey, sirens circling their annoying rattle around and around.

Following the canal, brined and maculate, clad in survival and reek, they slushed under and out the bakery and from below saw a small bridge that gapped from the street to the plantain field behind and next to Salamander’s.

Under it a cement cylinder where the canal flowed through running two-hundred meters long.

They hid inside the structure.

Let’s rest—said Sandy, slouched and panting, hands on his knees, back against concrete.

Layra pulled her phone out:

where r u?

grl I heard there was a firework show at St Anthony’s

u good?

we’re worried

Four(4) missed calls from La Bichiputy Krys(Krystal). Three(3) missed calls from Fi. She sighed and texted:

don’t tell mom.
things went south @ryan’s

im with sandy now

—a splash,

From a toad next to a slab rock startled Sandy.

He turns his sight back to Layra, she’s glistening with her puffy golden hair, dry leaves and asbestos on it. Her light bronze skin, smooth, no bumps or scars—except for that one now on her thigh— her neck, thin, he could see her pounding heart thud against the front of it, the grooves where the clavicle met, small chin below full lips, her narrow tensed forehead held the roundest eyes Sandy had seen, or so he thought at that moment.

They’re green?

Are you ok? asked Layra.

She opened her music app and played Talk Show Host by Radiohead and put her phone down and squatted, keeping her knees together with the skirt folded in between.

You think the others are okay? Ryan? she asked, lost in the rolling stream of clear water unlike the pell-mell haze now drowned in the soft susurrus of the current—drifting away.

Sandy shrugged and said: Ion’ know, and pulled a pack of Newport 100’s with half the pack being blunts.

Layra scoffed. Radiohead lingered in the air.

That ain’t my type of music, but, I like this song, said Sandy, flicking his lighter and lighting up a blunt. Above them, on the street: cars passed both east and west, both north and south, they passed above the kids.

What they called? asked Sandy.

Radiohead. It’s my aunt’s favorite band. Well… was. My mom’s sister. She passed away six months ago. Palimpsest draped over them both.

A soft exhale imbricated the song and the song imbricated the tension between the two and shingled now: their eyes met. His eyes are so sad

She closed her silent windows and her head tilted back—Sandy leaped like a panther, startling Layra; she responded: I’m just tired.

Sandy now towering in front of her; she: still squatting.

Her emeralds fixed on his mouth, the blunt gently tucked between his lips.

Here, he passed her the blunt stretching his hand with the blunt pinched between his thumb and index finger down to her.

Water trickled between the two.

She grabbed the blunt between her middle and index finger and took a long drag—she coughed and her eyes got teary and she felt her head get airy.

They laughed.

It’s cool you do what you do for your little brother, said Layra.

Sandy stepped back, looking up at the curved ceiling, he turned facing away from her.

Yeah—said Sandy—it’s not like Imma let him starve or go cold. You’d do the same with your sis if you had to.

I know, she said, the voice dripped in lime and dirt, it dragged along the brook.

She looked at his Jordans, cuffed lightly washed jeans—Here, she passed the blunt—his hand swollen like a piece of ham, knuckles gone—he pulled his hand back and grabbed it with the other; a series of river veins branched in his forearm, his biceps—fibrous—I’m hungry, she said, her gaze a butterfly that pranced from Sandy’s arm to the ends of his shoulders and up his cute well shaped head with the low fade: his earrings reflected escaping rays that bounced from the sun—a shock

His smile is stunning, what the hell. I never noticed that before

You’re buggin’, said Sandy, taking the blunt out of Layra’s hand—she snapped out of the daydream: What?

She sprung up holding her skirt down, her face angled downward while her eyes looked up at the flower of a man whose petals had been plucked down to leave one left standing.

Let’s go, we can go up Capetillo and walk to Needles, said Sandy.

Love Fade by Tamaryn played right after Talk Show Host.

I’m not going in that hood. If we keep going we can stop at my cousins, said Layra.

Where? asked Sandy.

Oak Grove, said Layra.

Okay, whatever. Let’s go.

Aren’t you afraid of getting caught?

Caught? Sandy looked back at her.

Cops? Opps? What do you mean caught? Layra’s dumbfounded face stared at the back of the boy’s head.

I mean, I’m already caught. Ain’t I? Caught in this trap where if I don’t move I don’t eat and if I move I might get clipped and whether it’s government that does so or the streets: I’m still left with what I don’t do, ‘cos no matter what it is I do, I still have no way out without losing myself in the mud; also, I love this shit, I’m good at it, makes me feel good and I do good with that like: putting clothes on my little brother, getting us food, keeping the power on, helping my mom. I watch out for us. It’s what my pops would’ve wanted. I think. I don’t know, I don’t really know him. He’s up in Oso Blanco.

Oh… said Layra. I’m sorry.

It’s whatever. Doesn’t matter, said Sandy.

Layra sped up enough to walk by his side, not staying behind, not stepping ahead: she matched his pace and he matched hers.

Through the grey clouds parted with bright rays a single thread of light hit Layra’s face just enough that he noticed at that proximity a cluster of opaque copper stars in the outskirts of her nose, they ended with a single one on the shores of her lips—she caught his glance and smiled.

Your Hand in Mine started to play and Sandy commented: Shit, that song was short.

I’m putting you on, huh? she asked, grinning.

Sandy reached and brushed some dry leaves off her hair.

Cooled down, a calm breeze murmured as it seeped amidst the plantain palms, the thick green rectangle leaves rustled and waved like flags.

Both, marched wilted and ragged. Close to each other they marched.

Threadbare, Sandy stepped enough steps to get ahead Layra, facing her he asked: Say… wanna go out sometime this weekend?

Layra laughed, You’re fucking crazy, we literally got shot at. Cops gotta be looking for us.

Yeah, well, that’ll settle itself out. We didn’t do shit but defend ourselves. So, what’s the word?

An orange creamsicle sky behind the purple grayish blot behind Sandy made him all the more dreamy.

I can’t believe this is happening

Sure, said Layra, now stop. Get back—she grabbed him by the wrists and pulled him to her side. Cars raced up Capetillo, they were on the side of the road inside the ditch of the canal. They were visible to transients.

Almost at the end, where Capetillo crossed with Fenecido street, was a STOP sign riddled with holes.

Sandy fixed on the sign.

Behind them, a thudding bass riveted the windows and rattled the plates, as the car crept up the street with its sound system vomiting SI PEPE by Ankhal.

Layra said, That’s your type of music, right?

Sandy mouthed the lyrics, gesturing with his hands, performing.

Not far back a blue Audi, tinted windows up crept like tree sap. Through the tinted windshield: Sandy danced or walked next to Layra. The men inside talked.

That’s that sato that knocked Wawi out, right?

Yeah, I think that’s Indio’s brother or something, said the goon, driving.

Nah, that’s his cousin. Indio’s brother’s a twin.

Put the Mickey on.

Slow down, slow down, said the goon.

Right at the stop sign Sandy asked: So, your cousin’, right?

Yup, said Layra, looking back, the roar of the Audi’s engine screaming for attention filled the girl’s ears.

Bass rattling, the car buckled and the windows went down and: fire roaring steel spat thirty rounds that nestled themselves all over and inside Sandy’s body, belly up to his face, each bullet twisted through the boy splashing blood on Layra’s frozen body.

Pieces of the boy on her hair, face, skirt.

The Audi drove off as soon as the clip emptied.

Layra stood in front of Sandy’s body.

The clouds cleared and the sun shone.

Twenty minutes later an ambulance arrived.

They took both Sandy and Layra.

Sandy arrived in critical condition to the ER.

He died hours later.

Thanks for riding with Chrome Hearse Express