Awoke next morning. Figured we'd better get head back for work in Santiago. That's really what the Cuban School Project's all about. Everybody would be getting worried about us too.
First we'd need to make the good bye rounds. Say farewell to all our new found friends in Contramaestra. I began to roll over the new names and faces in my mind as Willy and I pack up the baby blue 56 Chevy on the street out front of the Roach Motel. Glad to be done with all that, or so I thought.
"Excuse me sir!" An old man is standing beside me watching with great interest. Obviously no razor. His thread bare suit has seen better days. Sunken cheeks. Yellowed and missing teeth. A survivor. He raises a keen eyebrow, slyly leans over to me and says, "I can tell you are a veeerrry reeeeech man!"
"Oh yeah? How can you tell that I'm rich?"
A big warm grin spreads from cheek to cheek as he gazes at me with sheer amazement in his sparkling eyes, "Because you stay een a motel, y brush you teeth and gargle with Coca Cola!"
To Be continued......
PS: True, true, all true! Willy was there!