Sundays used to be the best. My grandma made soup in which ants were often found. When we bellyached, she would simply say, “More protein for You!” Merengue music everywhere. Bike adventures with the gang, the only girl I was, then some “yun yun.” A shower forced by the moms we could not avoid since Sundays were for kids to be fresh and clean with a fly outfit. Back to the streets with our show-off outfit. My momma would say, “Don’t you dare ride your bike with your white special pants.” I disobeyed every time and was punished every time. At the end of the day, I would iron my uniform even when the iron was too heavy and dangerous for me. I made sure that the pliegues on my skirt were perfectly Smooth for my mom’s high standards and mine too. My Shoes I cleaned until my reflection I’d see. In order of size, I’d put my Books in my backpack. Smooth, Shoes, Books, I’m ready for school.
Sundays used to be the best. So to ameliorate my thought, Chipotle I sought. But wait! They’re playing Dubstep. How about some Merengue? There you go! I must be in heaven.
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