El Bosque

   Shouts and screams cut through the soft haze of sleep that surrounded the tourists muddled brain. Dreams scattered and chased each other away as he awoke. The sun had risen and ushered in a new day. A pelota bounced in front of him. He followed the school children, off from classes for the holiday, pursue the ball through the long swaths of grass filling the park.

He stumbled to his feet and continued on his way.

                High walls of trees grew up and shrouded him. He walked in the shade and felt like he was in a jungle. As he descend deeper into this seeming heart of darkness his aching and tired body began to relax. In this wilderness he didn’t feel out of place. All the places of the world contained regions like these. Big cities and small towns. Slip away and never be found.

              

               He had seen many of these. Paris,  London, Frankfurt and Venice all had places to slip away and feel at home. Here he could feel as if she never existed. With him always , caring for him, loving him wishing him all the best. He didn’t deserve it. She was waiting for him. Worried about him. He had left her and disappeared. Shame he was and shame he would always be.

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Cauce del Río

          The TOURIST shuffled down the steps of the tower. Each foot not stepping, but sliding forward to allow gravity to drag its tired matter to the next platform. The night had been long.  The steps were littered with litter. The risings suns pale yellow highlighted the reflective, shiny bits of the scattered debris. The cans, bottles, and brightly colored wrappers of the nights festivities. Small pops sounded throughout the city as those with the endurance, stupidity, or the right drugs continued into the next day.  40 OZ AMSTEL went ringing down and alley way as his foot brushed it aside. Turning right he reached la Calle. The tired feet continued across. A park lay before him. Long and narrow, the remnants of a once mighty river. Scattered throughout the trees like Hellenic nymphs and fawns lay lovers. Looking like so many scattered pebbles. Each a lump off lusterless opaque. A bench beckoned and he answered. He set to light his last cowboy killer in the pack. The lighter sparked three times as he struggled with weary fingers to work the mechanism.   He gave up, head leaned back cigarette dangling on the precipice of pale lips. 

                 

Light filtered through leaves, descended on his closed eyes, as the first soft, wheezy snore rumbled out of him.