Arturo stands by his attic window in a sweatshirt and jeans, watching the sun climb above the horizon. The buildings and trees look black against the reddening skyline. He hasn’t slept well, troubled by Aleksy and Harris’s predicament, wondering what he can do to help today. For sure, he will stick close by them. After all, that’s why he’s here, isn’t it?
“Hey, sobrino, time’s a wastin’. Hot breakfast on the stove! Huevos rancheros!”
sobrinoHuevos rancherosArturo smiles. Angel Rocco is sure eating up the role of being his Cuban uncle. Outside the window, he sees the stray dog again running from a man who is shaking a stick at him.
Sighing, he turns away to head into the shower stall at the other end of the room. He wipes the steam from the vanity sink mirror and peers in. Still expectin
