EN + ES
Escuchar
1
Mañana de Sábado
Página 1
Thousands
of
parallel
lives
brushing
against
one
another
through
tiny
recurring
details.
Saturday
Morning.
‘Arroz
con
leche.’
Maya
wakes
up.
The
morning
light
is
poking
through
her
window,
painting
a
picture
on
the
wall
in
a
way
that
brings
her
a
little
packet
of
joy
every
morning.
She
looks
at
her
phone.
It's
7:23.
Notifications.
‘Arroz
con
leche,’
again,
on
a
perfect
five-second
cadence.
She
only
hears
the
first
two
or
three
every
morning;
her
ear
has
learned
to
drown
them
out.
Maya
says
hi
to
the
Arroz
con
leche
woman
every
time
they
pass
one
another,
though
she
has
never
bought
any.
Maya
makes
the
bed,
fluffing
her
pillows
by
slapping
them
vigorously
against
her
legs.
She
straightens
the
top
sheet.
Perfection.
She
walks
to
the
other
end
of
her
studio
apartment.
Beside
the
sink
there
lies
a
cutting
board
with
bits
of
avocado,
a
wooden
spoon,
a
knife,
and
a
lime
sliced
in
half
and
squeezed
empty
—
whoops.
Even
a
tidy
person
has
their
moments.
She
makes
her
coffee.
She
takes
the
coffee
to
the
window.
The
street
is
in
motion.
She
notes
the
Vento
motorcycle
—
the
same
green
Vento
parked
just
a
bit
too
close
to
her
garage,
in
just
the
way
that
made
it
slightly
harder
to
pull
her
car
into
it,
again.
She
was
pretty
sure
the
guy
who
owned
it
lived
on
the
other
side
of
the
street
anyway.
Just
park
it
on
your
side
of
the
street.
Ongoing
irritation.
She's
thought
about
leaving
a
note.
She
hasn't.
She
probably
won't.
The
irritation
passes
through
her
and
flees.
Deep
breath.
It's
Saturday.
The
light
is
still
painting
on
the
wall,
in
a
slightly
different
flavor
with
each
passing
minute
as
the
sun
rises
further.
The
packet
of
joy
returns.
She
drinks
her
coffee.
||
||
Mañana de Sábado — C1 Inglés | Cuentana