Spotted in El Chalten, Argentina, in the heart of Patagonia under the shadow of Mt. Fitz Roy. Let’s tell its story.
Add a sentence in the comments, and I’ll add it to the text. Short or long, it’s up to you; just be sure it adds to the narrative. Feel free to come back as often as you’d like. Just don’t add lines back-to-back. Or invite a friend.
Easy enough? Cool.
I’ll begin.
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It didn’t rain the afternoon Pedro and Miriam pulled onto State Route 55 and headed due south, but Pedro sometimes wished it had; maybe their luck, he often said, wouldn’t have run bone dry.
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Odd jobs and migrant field work had kept them afloat for six months. Now with the growing season over and more chance of running into immigration patrols, they slowly wended their down to the border.
this is so good.
love the art.
They had wended a meandering course south from Mendoza where Pedro had envisioned a lucrative career in wine making, based upon his appreciation of the region’s signature Malbec. Sadly, his unbridled appreciation did not translate into employment opportunities, and Miriam, tired of the meager tips she earned waiting tables, suggested they try their luck working the tourist resorts in El Chalten. Picking up odd jobs along the way to fill the tank and restock the wine rack, they pulled into the village, tank empty and wine stores depleted. To make matters worse, they discovered instead of the luxury resort town they had expected, a modest support community for hikers and other “outdoor types”, notorious for thrifty tourism.