The early morning train to La Plata, a city just south of Buenos Aires, is filled with workers. It smells of cold metal and dust and then the café being sold. Laura and I look out the window with tired eyes and heavy shoulders. We on our way to work too. We sigh. Wind comes through the open doors of the train as it picks up its pace. The morning is still under dark clouds. Its cold. The kind that arrives and wraps itself around your bones. Like the mountain cold of Quito that no blanket can conquer. You have to wait until the sun rises and you can sit in its light.
Out the train window the horizon starts to turn from black to blue to mist. The idea of the sun gives us a glimmer of warmth. Two hours late we arrive at the door of our place of work… Back to school…
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