Starting from South America, speeding through the world

Chapter 174 Cuba
He felt that he had seen that face in some promotional poster before.

The Federal Reserve? Blackstone?
Who knows.

Can not remember.

They're all cut from the same mold anyway.

Ramon's mind was getting increasingly confused.

Memories are like boiling water, bubbling and gurgling out.

He thought of himself many years ago.

Tin shacks in southeast Detroit.

A recycling center in the early morning, filled with glass jars and beer bottles.

My father works at a manufacturing company.

The supervisor on the assembly line wears a shirt and drives a Ford.

I'm going on a road trip to Lake Erie during summer vacation.

The laughter drowned out the sound of the wind.

The American Dream.

The American Dream.

The American Dream teaches hard-working people to run forward with their eyes closed.

As a teenager, around seventeen or eighteen, I wore ripped jeans and attended school in Brooklyn.

He sat in the corner, burying his head in the pile of books and pretending to be asleep.

Afraid of saying the wrong thing.

He was afraid that others would ask him to participate in the discussion.

Every day after class, I walk through Seventh Avenue, which is covered with advertising flyers.

The soles of the shoes are thin, and you can feel the vibrations of the train tracks when you walk on the subway platform.

There are always people selling sunglasses, three pairs for five dollars.

There are two flavors of soda in the refrigerator.

The bedroom has a TV, a DVD player, and game consoles.

On Fridays, my mother makes fried chicken.

If you put in too much oil, the room will smell wonderful.

Subsequently, a large number of banks collapsed.

On TV, all I see are "quantitative easing" and "liquidity".

The billboard has been changed.

The United States is recovering.

Lively.

They did not recover.

In March, the house was reclaimed.

Before moving out, he listened to the priest speak in the church.

"No future is the greatest violence."

The father is crying.

The mother is crying.

He is crying.

Crying for myself.

Excellent points.

To be even better.

Why am I so mediocre that I can't get a full scholarship?

He sat in the last row, the window half-open, the iron frame rusted.

A breeze blows in, and a child is playing the harmonica on the street corner.

Melodica.

Melodica.

I heard the harmonica again in Zuccotti Park.

There were many people, and the tents were set up crookedly.

He stayed there for four days.

The girl shouted, "We are ninety-nine percent!"

He shouted it too.

Then they kissed.

My lips felt cold, as if I had just drunk ice water.

They sat there, leaning against each other, cuddling together.

On the fifth day, the police cleared the area.

The girl died.

When he got home, his feet were so cold he couldn't feel them.

Perhaps he is dead too.

Died in winter.

He died the instant the police raised their shields.

He died at four in the morning.

Four o'clock in the morning.

I work at four in the morning.

Supermarket sorting refrigerated goods.

The warehouse lights are always broken.

He lost his footing and his knee slammed into the iron ladder, leaving it bloody and mangled.

Fortunately, the company provides medical insurance.

I waited 20 hours in the emergency room and was seen for only 6 minutes.

The nurse said, "Get more rest."

From then on, he was lame.

But you cannot take leave.

No one is available to cover for me.

If no one can cover for you, you'll lose your job.

Losing your job means losing your insurance.

Insurance.

Insurance.

It would be great if my mother had insurance too.

That way, Mother wouldn't be lying in the grave.

My mother is at the cemetery.

My father is at the cemetery.

My brother is in the cemetery.

Grass sprouted from the cracks, and the stone tablet tilted.

He didn't go in; he just stood in front of the iron bars, his left hand in his pocket.

There was nothing in my pocket.

I should die in Cuba.

My hometown.

My mother's hometown.

A village by the sea, east of Havana.

The roof is red.

Red.

Warm.

There are roosters crowing in the morning and the sound of waves crashing at night.

Clotheslines were strung on both sides of the rooftop.

The wind blew the bed sheet against the railing.

Ramon suddenly felt very hot.

It's not pain, it's heat.

He couldn't see his surroundings clearly, but the light seemed to grow brighter and brighter, as bright as a sheet of white paper. Just then, someone walked past him.

Those were clean sneakers.

Black, simple design.

Above that, there was a face.

East Asians have strong features and calm expressions.

Their eyes met.

Just for a moment.

In that instant, he didn't think of anything; he just instinctively felt:

This person doesn't belong here.

They are neither enemies nor friends.

Who is he?
Who am I?

Ramon suddenly realized that his appearance might not be important at all to Easterners.

Visibility began to darken, and the sounds grew fainter and fainter.

Another explosion was heard nearby.

Like glass, like bone, or maybe nothing at all.

The corpses in the sky are still swaying.

He is out of sight.

He can't hear anymore.

A gust of wind blew up from the other end of the street.

The dust swirled up, obscuring the sun.

Ramon's body lay on the side of the street, half his face pressed against the ground.

The blood had dried.

Spread your fingers and place your palm down.

No one reported it immediately.

Too messy.

Too many casualties.

Everyone was running, shouting, backing up, and pushing forward.

The explosion-proof team proceeded in an orderly manner.

Ten minutes later, a policeman spotted him.

But their attention was quickly diverted by the attackers.

Ramon is still there.

like a statue.

Thirty minutes later, the area finally stabilized.

Two agents walked over.

They didn't squat down, nor did they check.

"This one is dead too?"

"do not know."

"Then let's not touch it, just take a picture."

One person picked up a camera and pretended to film for a few seconds.

The other one took out a blue cloth, spread it out, and covered it up.

The wind lifted a corner of the cloth.

He then stepped on it with his left foot.

Three minutes later, a car pulled up nearby.

Two people got off, wearing white protective suits.

They wore gloves and body bags, but didn't act immediately.

"Take it away now?"

"No, the reporters are still filming."

"So many corpses, and they want to film them all?"

"Wait until it gets dark."

"alright."

An hour later, Ramon was still on the street.

It was covered by a blue cloth.

The soles of the shoes were exposed, stained with blood.

A woman tried to approach, but was roughly pinned down and handcuffed behind her back.

"Is he still alive?" The voice was choked with sobs.

No one responded.

The police stood there indifferently.

Six hours later, Ramon was transported to the municipal morgue.

Number: JD-2427.

Sex: Male.

Race: Unknown.

Identity: To be verified.

He was stuffed into the freezer.

Three days later, no one claimed it.

The body was pushed onto the metal platform.

The bag is opened.

The head is slightly rotten.

The staff members wore masks and moved with practiced ease.

The tendons are well preserved and can be classified as training samples.

With a stable spine and pelvis, it can be used for equipment adaptation training.

The remaining portion will be handled according to regulations.

Utensil cleaning.

The numbered label is invalid.

one year later.

Somewhere in Europe.

The venue was quiet, with few tourists.

In the corner, inside a glass cabinet, stands a skeleton.

The boy leaned closer to take a look.

Not interesting.

I'd rather stay home and play video games.

he thinks.

Then he left with his mother.

Outside the window, the sun hangs high in the sky.

It's a rare good weather.
-
A poem says:
People don't recognize that gold is the foundation of bones, yet those whose bones fill the high platform feel no shame.

All nations vie for market share, urging forth new life; barren lands overflow with rivers, turning heads white with age.

The jade tablet bestows favors upon the lord, deceiving even a young child; the bronze seal locks away the autumn chill.

At this moment, Heaven's will is not the king's decree; since ancient times, humankind has been self-suff

/
Without the distinction between loyalty and filial piety, who can differentiate between wealth and enmity in a single thought?

Before executing an official, one should first burn the imperial edict; when opening a granary, one should not forget to sever the dragon's throat.

A lone banner ferrying a thousand men across the river; furious cavalry charging through the pass, capturing ten thousand demons.

If you ask who will rule the world next year, a single star will illuminate the boats of the people.

Another ode says:

Heaven does not bestow titles upon those who are honored; they are revered by men themselves. Their names will be remembered for a thousand years, their names etched in blood.

　This poem was written hastily, driven entirely by emotion. The language is archaic and not bound by strict rules. It aims only for the meaning to be clear, not for perfect form. I ask for your understanding, dear readers.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)