The jerky rythm of reggaeton played too loud, leaked from the battered transport, full of testosteron, alcohol and dreams. Smelly youth, the future prospects of power, our future.
Doors closed to foreigners, depending what or who that foreigner may be, or wants.
If the foreigner wants anything.
A morning walk, after the night before, detritus of frivolity trapped by the gutter of those same smelly youths.
We are all waiting for the same sunrise. Its just tha some have been waiting longer than others.
Goodnight.
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