Zona

Listening to a radio station from Oruro, Bolivia over the internet transport my mind there. It's 2:30 in the afternoon. Saturday. Most of the stores closed at noon. Vendors in the market are sweeping in front of their stalls with hand brooms. The doors of the cathedral are open and I can see the candles burning inside as a pause for a moment.

It is the first days of autumn and it's sunny out so I sit at a outside table at the restaurant. Right on the main plaza. People walk by with the green of onions hanging out of their market bags. At the table next to me a guys pours beer for his three friends. I can smell the beer and the cigarette that somebody lights at another table.

I love this time of day. A space between the bustle of the morning and dinner time. The noon rush to get home is over and just the last dinner grocery shoppers. We're over the hump.

PAUSE

It's Sunday morning now. 6AM. No Bolivian radio is playing but in the Oruro house of my mind the sun is leaking through the curtains. Noise from the occasional car passing and dog barking and the distant rooster. Then there's the paper boy. I can hear him coming from way down the street.

"Presencia, presencia, DiarioooOOOOOO".

The maid opens the door and gets both papers from the boy. I love newspapers.

I wonder if San Jose is playing at home today.