Que una dia

Isaac Arboles was ticketing his way through the field behind Mendez Supermercardo.

The birds were as white as silk in a bedroom and the clouds were noisy.

The babies in the telephone booth were hot and hungry and the mothers gathering soda bottles were hot and sweaty.

Isaac picked up bits of paper and held them like premier movie ticket stubs, like he did when the traveling cinema came and showed the movie Jehu Slays the Giant, in techinkolor.

Rain was on the way and Isaac was pleased.

So pleased that he ran to his home by the twisty tree where his half-brother built a telescope landing and his dog slept in the summer, and he threw the paper bits into the dumpster as the hot rain drops hit his neck and made less-dirty streaks.

“I want to get a tattoo of a detailed map of Argentina on the bottom of my foot.”

And he knew that there were aliens in the clouds and that they could, if they wanted to, break into cosmic chorus, and he waited on the tippy-toes of his mind, but he was soon distracted by the mailcart and the mailwoman who was just so voluptuous.
Sí señor. What a day.