Waiting on a shaky premise for the garbage man to come

Streaks of apricot light dance above the eastern horizon, a band plays somewhere down below, and fireworks pock the Oaxaca dawn as I haul the garbage can down free-form concrete pavement one block to the corner, and grab a seat on the curb. It’s 6:30 a.m., 13 days before Christmas, and I’m waiting for the garbage truck. In pidgin conversations with our lovely neighbor, Celia, I’ve learned (I think) that the troca de basura will arrive at 6:30 this Saturday […]

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