Everyone is Asleep

Flor rode her bike through town this morning for an hour and a half. She was looking and listening for the gas truck. Listening, yes, because the gas trucks here play a tune, not unlike the ice cream truck, blasting from a loudspeaker as they drive through town. After a while she gave up riding, got a coffee, and parked her bike on the bridge in the center of town. There she waited patiently, until finally, the truck came. "Oye!" She shouted to get his attention. She described the house on the cobblestone street (one of the two non-dirt roads in town), and sent him up with instructions that she would be riding right up behind. Needless to say, the truck took off and Flor was left, literally, in the dust. When she got to the house, dirty and covered with sweat, she walked into the livingroom where her five year old son, Obsidian, was sitting.
"Mom," he said, "the guy with the truck came here."
Flor breathed a sigh of relief. So we would have gas after all. Her efforts had been successful.

"But, mom, then he left because everyone was sleeping and I didn't wake them up."

Flor sank to the floor.

But at least she had cold water for a shower.