It was the fourth day he had been walking. His ribs hurted. Only 15 hours ago, Cancun coppers had given him a stick massage. Cain had told them to fuck off when the old bill took him to the nearest ATM and ordered him to withdraw as much as the bank could give him. That one hurt -he thought- while pressing the side of his chest. A lorry aproached, slow down and finally stopped. Cain catched up with the driver. He had to show his english passport to him so the driver was sure Cain was no south american. The driver, Rodrigo Perez, had spent 2 years in prision, for carrying ilegal inmigrants from Guatemala, a couple of women in school uniforms who could not longer be 18, no matter how much they swore on their dead mothers graves.
No comments:
Post a Comment