Shoot the Alien

It was one of those gorgeous days of May, a distant sun shimmering in a bright blue sky, a soft cool breeze. And Buenos Aires pandemonium all around. All of them took a moment to deplore they were in the middle of the city, instead of a beach by the lake or camping in the woods.

“But at least we’re all together,” said Miyen, raising his beer.

They all toasted to it, and then to Juan again.

A zillion people strolled down the park lanes among the stands offering crafts, clothing, food, books. The Cultural Center had some interesting expositions they meant to check on later. A couple of bands were getting ready to play at different corners of the park.

They’d picked a nice spot on the grass to lay Mika’s tablecloth, where they set all the food they’d brought to share. They were near the secondary gates of the Cultural Center, the traffic up and down Alvear Avenue roaring only forty feet away.

Silvia sat down between