for me and one for him. Inside the bags were two soft bean and chewy carne asada tortas (beef sandwiches) with two pink shell-shaped sugar-covered pan dulces (sweet bread) for dessert. Lupe put the red hot stuff on his torta. I had mine without. During lunch, Lupe and the other farmworkers talked in Spanish for a long time. Most of the farmworkers didn’t seem very friendly. Just lately, it sounded like they were saying something angry to Lupe. Lupe made “calm down” gestures to them. They said words that I thought weren’t good like “Pinché gringos,” “Gueros culeros,” “Hijos de su puta madre,” “Unión,” and “¡Sí se puede!” More and more, I heard them talking about a guy named “Cesar.” The last few days, it seemed like all they ever wanted to do was yell at Lupe and talk about Cesar. Lupe looked uncomfortable. One time, a farmworker shouted real loud at Lupe and some spit even flew out of his mouth, landing on Lupe.
The Winter Issue of Black Fox Literary Magazine featuring new fiction and poetry.