I like to get to the cemetery around…5: 00 PM. When there is still plenty

of daylight. To pull out my pencils and sketching book to draw as many

people as possible. Carry as usual, my backpack with my Tequila, limes

and a tuna can for the cat. Lobo had dinner already. And just in case, I

also carry a tuna sandwich we can always share. Different families at

different places, obviously. All with same purpose. Of praying and

talking to their loved ones. As me. Sundays are the busiest. Yes, people

are busy all week days. They come to mourn. I come to live. To hear all

kinds of midnight sounds. Feel the old tree leaves caress my cheeks.

Look at the beautiful piece of architecture 50 feet away of Mausoleum.

Time drips by…the sun goes down and everyone is gone home now.

The stars start to show off…the moon looks radiant. The wind starts

whirring through all stone ways. The tree feels it too. Lobo gets

comfortable. I pick up the petroleum lamp. Lit it. Pull out my Tequila

and shoot down the first one. Have a smoke. Listen to the musical

silence. Loud as a storm and love it. Want to drown in it. Read for a

while. Lay down my head on my backpack with the sketching block

and pencils. My body extended all the way on my Mama’s large marble

listening to her rattling old bones composing a lullaby song for me.

I feel at peace. As if I were dead.

EO