I opened my eyes and saw the blue sky and bright sun. He was jostling me with his foot and finishing a cigarette.
“Come on. It’s time to go, Bobby,” he said as he flicked the butt into the gravel. Gravel? I looked around and saw i had passed out, perfectly straight within the lines of one of the three factory parking spots.
I groaned remembering I’d now have to get back into the beat-up, Orange Chevy Vega with Sprite cans hanging from the rear view mirror.
Then it hit me. I don’t really know where I am. We drove two valleys past Veracruz. The town has a bunch of consonants in the name and maybe an X or a T or an A. Last night at dinner we were told the town’s famous for an annual witchcraft festival. That was all I knew.