Mundo Cruel
the earth, but first take me to a restaurant for a plate of rice and beans because I’ve been hungry for the last twenty years.
    And they left.

    José A. cried out of pure rage, not over Pachi, since deep down he knew his shortcomings, but because the clothes he wore had cost him a lot and it wasn’t for going slumming like that. He turned up his nose, stopped behind the car to vomit the smell of fried food, and got in the car.
    At that moment he promised himself that the next day he would sell everything and go to Miami. Since he, José Alfonso Lapís, of the Ponce Lapís family, didn’t mix in with riffraff, and never would he live without decorum. Never!

A Maritza Espinal, Gabriel Espinal,
and Suzanne Jill Levine, gracias.
    I would like to acknowledge my friend and colleague Leo Cabranes-Grant for his invaluable help with this translation.

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