Pollos

Enrique was appalled when he saw his cousin’s pack. He walked around it, whistling.

“What do you have in here, Hectór? Furniture?”

The boy shrugged, or tried to against the weight of the straps.

“You know we’re walking, right?”

“Not all the way, Rico.”

“The boat takes us only to Salina Cruz. After that, the coyote will see about finding us a truck. No guarantees, though.”

Hectór looked close to tears.

“What’s so important you need to bring it to El Norte, cousin?”

The boy sniffed. “The photographs from the fireplace. I don’t want to forget our family.”

“We won’t.”

 

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