A short aside from the Peru trip - fictional-? Not Really
When the fields came into view, he remembered. Even though he had never been in this place before, yet, still he remembered. The bus, gears grinding, clawed its way uphill, its wheels spewing out loose stones behind like a contrail as the driver fought for traction. Below, several hundred feet below, the fields, barely stamps. green postage stamps, shone in the sun, almost fluorescent, contrasting against the puke yellow background of parched corn and barley stalks as the bus climbed ever higher above the Andean plain. It was then that it came back to him, the memory that he had choked back, buried, alluded to, occasionally, but never quite divulged as real. The coffee splashed over his hand, hot, uncomfortable, not really a burn. More an annoyance as the plane took its first hard bounce and dropped a bare hundred feet or so. The crackle of the P.A. “This is your Ca......” was eclipsed at first by panicked gasps from fellow passengers, then by his own...