“Clouds are pillowed above the city, as if they were pushed up against an invisible wall. Walking among these yellow globes is a cheerful thing—an antidote to the gray oppression of the clouds. Consuela plucks a lemon, buffs the dust from its skin, and bites into it. She is prepared, does not make a face in reaction to the sourness. The juice runs down her chin, and she wipes her face with her sleeve. “Why did you do that?” “Because I’ve never done it before,” Consuela says. “And?” “It was a good lemon. It was a delicious lemon.” They walk in silence for a few minutes. Then Columbus clears his throat. “I’m not the only one who knew,” he says. “In fact, there were many who knew.” Consuela laughs. “You’re going to have to brief me a bit better for these conversations where you start halfway through and I’m expected to know what you’re talking about.” “Look, all I’m saying is that you could go into a bar, and if it was the right bar and you were a good listener, you found out things about... the world.MoreLessShow More Show Less
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