I travel the subway, I observe people ... all different.
I try to read their looks, while maybe they read mine.
Maryland is a nostalgic city in my point of view.
Perhaps because my father was here the last 20 years, a prisoner and a slave of destiny; for wanting something better.
It is rare to feel like a prisoner while walking in the streets, but not being able to communicate perfectly limits you to living locked up; Losing yourself from the world in a subtle way
Sometimes I think that life has surprises for me, at other times I would no longer like to receive those surprises. My father could not say goodbye to his father; and sometimes I feel responsible for that. Maybe if he had been prodigious in some area; he would have already returned home to his parents.
At this moment I can finally understand what the place is not; if not, the person.
Maryland is a great city and very well located as a hub for sightseeing, but something in me cannot fully enjoy it.
Just like my father, there are thousands of Latino immigrants walking through the United States with stories that become books, after a few extra drinks.
I recently met Ruben, a 45-year-old man from El Salvador, I met him one afternoon how at 5:00 pm he was leaving work and he was at the seven eleven buying a drink, while I was buying a pack of cigarettes.
Coincidentally, we were both ordinary people that day, so we were walking along the same sidewalk, while I was lighting my cigarette, I heard from behind a hoarse and low voice that asked me: Hey friend, where are you from?
