A clatter against the window of my second-story room in Golden Hill awoke me. Then, shouts. What the hell? “Eh, Miguel.” “Miguelito.” “Barba de Chivo, levántate, cabrón.” Only Rodolfo called me Barba del Chivo, followed …
Mariano directed me to the border-crossing lanes and as usual it was bumper to bumper. We edged forward while the vendors on foot tried to sell us junk.
Posted April 13, 2022
Stories this photo appears in:
Kitchen Spanish