Rainy Streets
9.09.2017 I sat in my darkened room, the french doors open into the night, with a gentle rain over a town that was slowly drifting to sleep. The bleat of goats I heard nearby, fodder for customers who read the handwritten “cabrito” sign on a piece of cardboard taped to a roadside milk crate. Drunken shouts echoed down the alleyway from the nearby cantina, where exhausted workers played cards and drank, the smell of beer and sweat fresh in my mind from when I'd passed the open