Looked forward to spending time with a friend today, but it turned out she was busier than expected. Thus, I ended up sitting in a bank for an hour reading my book, The Same Kind of Different as Me.
The little bank was tucked away in a row of multi-colored stores in Sumpango, right in front of the market. We greeted the bank guard with a buenas tardes, and I found a seat staring out across the cobblestone streets towards town hall. A man spoke through a megaphone, and a crowd of people stood listening to him, their backs to me and the man's voice muffled by the time it reached my ears. The guard leaned against the door, and patrons (men in their business suits, women in the colorful, ankle-length skirts, thick belts, and solid-color blouses) entered with a brief greeting and then stood in line.
I was glad I brought a book with me. I soon became lost in the world of Miss Debbie and Denver, and before I knew it, tears sprang to my eyes. I blinked them away but ended up resorting to fanning my eyes with my bookmark to keep tears from overflowing. Deciding momentarily to quit reading rather than cry in public, I watched the cleaning man sweep and then mop the floor with the towel-over-the-broom technique.
The story, however, couldn't keep out of my mind for long, so there I was, tearing up and fanning my eyes all over again. The guard must have thought I was hot. He soon shut the door to the street, opening and closing it for patrons, and the air conditioning became noticeably cooler.
Eventually, my friend and I discussed the English Academy, but time was short, so ideas and further discussion will need to wait til another day.
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