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On the LG flat screen TV at the front of the bus, a Coyote picks up a woman and her two children, driving them north to the boarder in preparation for a crossing.
From the bus window, a roasted pig, propped on cement blocks, awaits carving. Next door, three chickens spin on a spit over embers. Tethered cows graze circles into the grassy shoulder. I watch the landscape oscillate between pastoral Vermont and Montana’s Ranchland.
Tempers flare in the desert. The route has changed. The immigrants are running out of water.
From the bus window, a boy in a yellow shirt levers against the stubbornness of two piglets. A little girl walks with her mother, clutching the pleated fabric of her skirt. The woman's hands are clasped behind her back.
On the LG flat screen TV a reunion. The credits roll. The next movie begins. Vin Diesel steals a Corvette Grand Sport from a moving train.
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Guns are drawn on the streets of Rio. Drivers downshift and seek and opening. A ten-ton safe wrecks havoc in the wake of two Charger SRT8s.
From the bus window, a kestrel plunges for a sparrow. Concrete canals line the road, and the precise plantations of pine and eucalyptus.
The credits roll, the bus pulls into the station.
I am in a land between lands. What America do they know? What Ecuador do I?
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