The Fiesta

Mark Tulin
Jan 23 · 3 min read
Photo by Jacob Gomez on pexels.com

Five days I have kept to myself. I walk in the opposite direction of downtown, toward the rocks along the beach. I pass other homeless comrades, pushing carts and lumbering like old pack mules in tattered clothes and worn-out shoes. We retreat during times like these when all the outsiders flock into our town to celebrate the Fiesta.

Some of us hide in caves etched in the mountains that overlook the sea. I tuck away behind the large rocks by…