It was a nice afternoon for a long afternoon, taking in the anecdotes of an instructor on how to drive safely. Tomó asiento en la parte de atrás y observó a los presentes. Una variedad de infractores, la mayoría norteamericanos con ideas elaboradas de un nacionalismo barato.
“The United States is the greatest country in the world”, said the instructor, waving his arm like a flag, “why should WE go Smog Check when all those fucking Mexicans come from Tijuana and spray all their junks in our face. Don’t make me go there people. THEY should go Smog Check, not us. We got major problems here”.
El instructor nos dio un breik de 10 minutos, el cual fue vista al mar y un cigarro para la chica de piel latina, ojos filipinos. She had a Mexican type you know, but when you heard her talk, she was very americana, very fumando sola, viendo el mar.
“You got a ticket,” she said in a very matter-of-fact way.
“Well”, he said, “I am here to fulfill a pity system”.
“How is that?”
“All of us here, we have eight hours of traffic school on a Sunday morning”.
“Dame un cigarro”.
“Ah, entiendes español, de dónde eres?”
“Perú.”
La mujer regresó al salón y en el segundo breik intercambiaron miradas y una ida al café con silencios en la bahía, el mar, el mar, el mar, don’t make me go there, we got major problems here.
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