When Love Is Almost

Posted on March 24, 2015

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From Where Gringos Don’t Belong
Although they returned to the conference room to dance Claudi seemed less vivacious, more subdued. Finally, clasping his hand, she led him to the reception area just inside the front door.
“I needed to get away from everybody.”
“Me too.”
“Want to hear the latest?”
“What?”
“I was talking to María Sal. See, she and el Chingón, they’re having trouble. She wants you and me to talk to them. You know like counsel them.”
“Right up your alley. But I—”
“Qué puta madre! I can’t even counsel myself!”
“You’ve, I mean, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Head thrust sideways she eyed him, chingada madre under her breath, then:
“Why do you say things like that? You could use me, beat me, toss me aside. But…hìjole, this is new shit to me!” Thrusting her hand through her curls, “Okay mister reformer, we dance a couple of more times, then we get a cab, you take me home, we don’t even—we just…”
She grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet.
“What have you done to me, Afghanistan? What in the name of Yahweh have you done?”

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Posted in: Fiction