Hector and Maria have asked me to join them once more. Probably they thinks that with me they will be luckier.
We start walking and talking about the thing that happened during last week: Hectors sisters first childs birth, Marias birthday. "How old have you become," I ask. "18 years," she says. I definitely thought that she was at least 21, it seemed to be three years less. I count and realise that she was 16 years old when she gave birth to Ludmilla. Its not that young for a girl from the suburbs, it could be a few years earlier. "But no more children for a while," she says as if she can read my mind.
We do our normal route, the same neighbourhood, the same streets. Hector and Maria are playing the whole time, hitting, teasing each other. Its a normal day, we dont find that much.
The next morning I wake up with aching muscles and tired. I look out of the window. The first thing I see is an early cartonero with a sack on his back.