Part Two
9AM.
The alarm rings.
Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I glance at my daughter as
she continues to sleep through the noise.
I killed the alarm, stretch, said a silent prayer of
gratitude for a good night’s rest.
I peeked through the blinds to check out the activities on
the street outside my daughter’s apartment.
Kids were already playing as a puto vendor tooted his horn to announce
his presence: put-o, put-o, put-u.
Beep beep. Text alert.
