going for the centre of the world
“He wants to go to the centre!” exclaims the man I’ve just asked for directions, winking to his friends. They are laying a cement foundation for a house, amongst wooden huts with dirt floors. An upgrade. They giggle and wave for me to continue along the only road. At each house - spaced fifty metres from each other - I keep asking for the same directions. “El Centro?” a lady asks me at one of the many wooden kiosks, that all seem to sell the same few things, “bueno, just take a left at the next crossing.”
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