Suddenly, it happened. I was walking along the highway slowly, as always, when the Portuguese’s car drove past, very close.
He honked the horn three times and I saw that the monster was smiling at me.
All over again I felt angry and wanted to kill him when I grew up.
I scowled haughtily and pretended to ignore him. “It’s like I said, Pinkie.
Every single day. It’s as if he waits for me to go past and then he comes along and beeps his horn three times. Yesterday he even waved.”
“What did you do?” “I don’t care. I pretend not to see him. He’s starting to get scared, you see.
I’ll be six soon and it won’t be long before I’m a man.”
“Do you think he wants to be your friend because he’s scared?” “I’m sure of it. Wait a second, I’m going to get the crate.”
Pinkie had grown a lot. I had to stand on a crate to climb into his saddle now.
“There, now we can talk properly.” Up high there I felt bigger than everything.
I’d look around at the landscape, at the grass in the ditch, at the tanagers and finches that came to look for food.
At night, darkness would barely have fallen when another Luciano would come swooping happily
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