Tuesday, December 4, 2012
(San Juan Miraflores, Lima Peru)
Fernando, He’s tall, and thin, all the neighbors say he’s a very strange man, one who likes to get revenge. An angry man, who yells and screams, a clubfoot it seems, but a man who loves dogs—: ‘…hell,’ I say, ‘he can’t be all that bad?’ We had a disagreement—a week or so ago, in the month of November, of 2012, him and I, I wouldn’t let it lay, I suppose you could say, I provoked him, swore at him, egged-him-on wanted to fight. We stood per near nose to nose, or chin to nose being Fernando, he’s tall, tall and thin, taller than me, like a streetlight pole, and just about when my fists were to bounce off his tall thin-chin, my wife butted in, in-between him and I. Not sure why, why she per near started to cry, but I think I knew what I wanted to see, I wanted to see for myself if those awful tales were true. Anyhow, he was simply a man seeking respect, like me, with a deficiency—that shorter leg that he appeared to drag as he walked his way, walked away down the street towards the little ma and pa grocery store, yet intelligent, he was smarter than the neighbors took him for, more so than the neighbors I’d say, cared to know. I figured he was a man, tall man, that could take more than me, before he got peeved, could speak two languages, went to a noble and fine school—and perhaps that makes him less strange than me, to a certain degree.