“Somehow, Tío is still drinking…,” I sometimes find that I say to myself mornings upon waking after the fiesta. I used to make this observation and say it with amazement. How can he be drinking at this ungodly hour? Now, I say it with very little surprise.
A personal essay about the place where I live, Colombian fiestas, and parabolas. Continue reading on Beacon…
Wes Michael Tomaselli 