Slow day today, as I´m still not feeling well after so much medicine. However, I was quite excited (and somewhat shocked) when I got home, as a guitar sat waiting for me on my bed. This best of medicines belonged to Roger, Maritza’s , nephew, who is loaning it to me until I leave. Scarcely had I begun to play it, however, when we were told to come to dinner now and eat quickly. “Did she say something about a fire or smoke?” we said to each other. “Eat fast—the house is on fire,” we joked. As we finished, smoke began to pour over the walls of the yard, and suddenly the obscure language became clear to us. Fumigators! Guitar in hand, I hopped into the truck with Maritza and went a few blocks over to her sister’s house to stay for three hours until the fumes passed.
At Maritza’s sister’s house, I met Roger, my musical benefactor, and we played a few Beatles songs. Roger shared with us about himself. “I studied mechatronics engineering, but can’t get a job doing that in Honduras right now. I work at a [gas-fired power plant], which is unfortunate because Honduras has much more dirty energy than clean right now.” “It’s the same way in the States,” I replied.
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