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The girl is laughing, twirling in the mist and fog .
In the afternoon. The rain bouncing off her long wet hair.
The smell of the wet desert in the air.
The sky of wide Mexico above her.
Others laughing, taking in the cool wet rain in the middle of dry, cracked summer.
The Spanish guy (that’s what she called him A.k.a- Victor . he called her American girl)
Picked her up and twirled around laughing in his accent, true to the country of Spain.
Next to his voice hers felt simple, boring, bland and with no flavor or twist.
Her German friend came up and they danced , twirling, holding hands, laughing hysterically.
Nest to them the girls skin seemed without color, lightly tanned, but not the deep rich color of the skin of their homeland.
But now she didn’t care, they were equals in the rain, the soil washing over there soaked feet, skirts flying, the girls waist length hair twirling around.
The ground now had at least 2 solid inches of water, covering the bottom of feet.
Finally she felt she was at home.
She never wanted to leave this place, were her older and younger friends and people of all nations and accents and languages blurred together. The lines blurred by the friendship.