Carry On

Luz stood in the foyer with her eyes closed, breathing the old smells, corn and beans and singed chiles, beer and smoke and sweat.

She smiled, remembering how Oscar had kept it a secret while he lined up the loans, how he’d led her in blindfolded.

It had been an empty room then, not much more than four walls with a stove in the corner, a few tables, some wire chairs.

Thirty-five years they’d been open, not counting the food stall at the market. They’d raised six children with  two grandchildren so far.

Luz busied herself getting ready for lunch.

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