Moved down south and nothing felt right. Skated and bussed downtown, paper transfer crumpled in my hand.
They had kids that looked like my brother, their information stapled on their shirt. These folks just got released from Dilley, and I couldn't even fathom what I was seeing.
Things weren't supposed to be this way. It was supposed to be different but ain't nothing changed then and ain't nothing changed now.
What am I to do?
Later, on Greyhound, we stopped in Kingsville. There's a young boy who looks like my cousin. He keeps staring at the scar on my cheek and his mom tells him to stop and she apologizes on his behalf.
The little boy asks me,
“What happened?”
I told him, “A dog got me. It was a chihuahua! I made him mad, so he got me!”
He laughed at me and called me on my lie, though he looked at his mom, a bit worried that the lie held some truth to it.
His mom laughed and told him to be careful, or you'll end up like him (me). I felt bad for possibly stirring a fear of chihuahuas at his young age,
so I let him play with my Zangief backpack hanger. I showed him the anime I was watching on my phone, Soul Eater.
He watched for a bit, though he became disinterested pretty quick and started to make Zangief body slam an invisible foe.
Other things: