Short #3: Caballeros

Soon it would be time. El Jefe would arrive in the courtyard and give instructions for the next job. Luis watched the gauchos mill around trying to mask their trepidation, anxiety, uneasiness in ways that were so familiar to him that he could point at each and tell what they were thinking, feeling. He knew. After so many years out here he'd lost count, he most definitely had seen and felt it all.

Standing a couple of yards away from the arched doorway of the church, Jose and Tito laughed raucously as they traded stories about the last piece they'd gotten. "Una vez que le mostro quien era el jefe... sin problemas!"
Santiago cupped his hand and watched the match's flame as it lit the end of his cigarette. In the darkening twilight the flame flickering in the breeze threw misshapen shadows across his face. Taking a deep drag, he wondered what sort of orders they would get this time. Last time they were told to go into an armed encampment and acquire all the palominos. El Jefe said he had promised a certain number to be delivered to a landowner over in MexiCali. Santiago wondered what it would be like to abandon this life, buy a plot, and raise horses as an honest man. Reaping the bounty of the fruits of his labor. "Menos dinero" he thought. Besides was he really ready to settle down? And with who? Settling down meant a wife and a family. And he had neither and no prospects for either on the horizon.
"Cuando hace el jefe de venir?" asked Little Jesus as he chewed on his nails. Not much was left to chew but he couldn't help himself. He clasped his hands behind his back and shuffled his feet in the loose dirt. Hearing the sound of hoof beats he looked up, to see the answer to his question. El Jefe and his armed contingency were riding into the courtyard, calling everyone to gather round. Little Jesus began biting his nails again.

Short #2: A woman

Is it wrong to think that anyone who eyes you up and down means you harm, whether personally or just because?
I heard the click of a door closing and looked up to see a middle age woman in a dusty rose colored crew neck shirt and khaki pants looking in my direction with displeasure written on her face. Her eyes, an indeterminate color behind the lenses of her glasses never changed expression as she looked away and hurried past me to cross the street. I stopped watching her and turned my attention back to the process of stowing gear on a hot day. From the other side of an open door wafted laughing conversation.
I wondered what had happened in this lady's day to paste that look on her face. Did it start when she woke up and saw her reflection in the mirror above the bathroom sink? "Who is this woman staring back at me? Where is the bloom I remember so clearly, what was that, yesterday? When did those lines at the corners of my eyes come?"
Or was it the daily routine of work that put that dissatisfied look there. Did her boss ask her to complete yet another task to add to the list of things impossible to accomplish in 8 hours? That would explain the papers she carried without the convenience of a briefcase or tote bag to hold them. I'd be pissed too.
I shut the seat of my scooter and just as easily ceased further reflections on the woman and her day.

Short #1: Street sign

Hmm. Another gray day. I can't tell anymore if the grayness comes from the light drizzle or from the constant belching of exhaust from the cars and buses and vans that inch by. I used to watch with attention the endless sea of humanity. Some would go in the buildings covered in gilt, indecipherable neon signs flashing. Folks hurrying silently by, intent on reaching their destinations. "Somewhere to be" "Had to get out of there" would float up to me on occasion.

Sometimes someone would lean up against me to talk on their phone before darting out into the street to cross to the other side. This time of day no one but me is idly watching passersby.
I've seen so much of the same. Today it's umbrellas and raincoats and hats and jackets and boots. Yesterday the same thing and the same thing the day before that.
Then the day darkens and the passersby slow down. There are fewer and fewer of them. One or two will slow down and stop for a moment to look up at me before continuing on.
Yeah. The excitement, the novelty is gone. It's all the same now. I couldn't tell you how long I've been here. Long enough though. Long enough to get gum stuck to me that has now become a part of my skin. Long enough to be kicked and dented and spray painted. Long enough for the glamour to wear off.
Sometimes I wonder what it'd be like to be knocked down. It happened to one of them on the other side of the street by a bus if I remember correctly. I think it was replaced. I couldn't tell from here if it was the same one or not. To go somewhere else, see something else...