Pol Rubio, a young philosophy graduate, isn't feeling his best lately. And he usually is. Working at a dead-end job and living an unfulfilling life was not what he had envisioned his life to be. Until one night, when he recalls a previous failed rel...
What is home? I don't know anymore. The day Dante died, I just had the overwhelming urge to just run away. And so I did. I left my mother. I left my friends. I left Simone. I moved to the cheapest apartment I could find and I got a job to sustain myself. I also repair cars and scooters to make some extra cash on the side.
Ever since I was a kid, I've always had this feeling that I'm just a burden to those who love me. My mother could have been Italy's greatest writer but instead she gave that up to raise me. And Simone...well.
I don't know. Maybe it's true. Maybe I am a liability in everybody's life. And maybe this is me finally accepting that. I can't say it's a good choice but I think this is better for everyone. This way, I don't get to hurt them.
I play my mother's voice messages as I open the food truck.
"Manuel, please come home. I miss you."
"Please call me, Manuel. I love you."
"Hello, Manuel. How are you? Are you okay? Please don't forget to eat."
I take a deep breath, lock the phone and put it in my backpack. I grab a towel from the cabinet under the counter and I wipe the front part of the truck. Luckily the rain wasn't too strong last night or I'd have to rearrange and clean everything again and I'm not feeling it today. Suddenly I hear a knock on the counter. I look up and see that it's Churro, the Spanish tourist from the other day.
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"Hey friend...Manuel," he says with a huge grin, looking all sweaty. He stops to catch his breath.
I stare at him for a bit. As much as it pains me to say it, Churro is one attractive guy. I never really saw it the first time, maybe because I was hungover and was having a bad day, but...what the fuck? I don't remember him looking like a model or something.
"Hi," I say. "Do you want to buy?" I ask as I put the towel back inside the cabinet. I wait for him to respond.
He walks closer to the counter, almost leaning in towards me. Like he's about to tell me a secret. "Can you help me?"
Help? With what? The way you're talking to me right now makes me think it's something illegal. Is it some weird sex thing?
"What?" I ask him.
He takes out his phone from his pocket. He swipes through it and then shows me a photo of a guy shirtless in bed. "Did you see this guy?" he asks.
I look at the photo, trying to remember if I've ever seen him before. Nothing. I shake my head.
"No sorry." Churro nods. "Who is that?" I ask as he puts the phone back in his pocket.
"This is my..." He adjusts his throat. "...His name is Bruno."
Looks like someone's looking for an ex. I'm no doctor but the way he adjusted his throat sounded like his denial blocked his saliva for a moment. I smirk at him, pleased at that smart thought. They come rare these days.
