Smalltown Boy

Robert did not want to be a chismoso and tell Hannah everything about Bertie, but the story just came out. Ni modo, he thought. He started the story of Bertie as a little ruffian in Mexico that used a sling shot and marbles to torture birds, ran around like crazy through the smalltown of his birth, and drank the little sips of tequila left behind by his elders. While Robert and Hannah sat under a growing tree, the sun above them shone on a beautiful, marble headstone in a calm cemetery somewhere in California where Bertie eventually made a life. Robert tried to tell Bertie's story without adding too much crema a sus tacos, como dicen pues, but he knew it would sound fantastical either way. For better or for worse, Bertie deserved to be remembered.