We were off. Three of us. Three cell phones, three backpacks. Mine and Walter’s were fit to burst. Miseria’s was lankier than she was, like all she had in it was a pair of leggings.

We walked along the shoulder, the darkness shattered by the headlights of a truck barreling toward us. Another passed, then another. Nonstop trucks on the road. Their lights so strong they kept half-blinding us.

I could’ve asked Ezequiel to drive us but hadn’t wanted to. The day before, I’d almost puked in his car. Besides, it would’ve been twice as hard to skip town.

I kept on walking, clutching my cell as though, from then on, Ezequiel would be held inside it.

We crossed an avenue that swelled into a river when it rained. I never used to like going there as a kid. I thought the gutters would swallow me up. The memory made me laugh.

Most of the houses were dark. Businesses were shuttered, as usual. A cat peered through a broken window, eyeing us like it didn’t give a shit.

The lights came and went with the trucks. There was hardly another soul around.

I thought of what Walter had said: “When we leave, we’ll catch a bus or a train, or whatever comes our way.”

We passed an abandoned gas station. It was huge, and I couldn’t remember if I’d once seen it open or if it’d always been like that, boarded up with planks that hid the inside from view. Never any lights on. Whenever I went by there, I’d stand around and read the stuff scrawled on the wood. I’d memorized nearly every phrase. In a heart: “Yani & Lara 4ever.” Beneath that: “Lucas, ur days r up.” In black spray paint: “Power 2 Youth.” Farther on, a stencil all around the barrio: “Melina dances in my lesbian heart.” And scrawled across the wall, in huge letters: “Teen Respekt: Podestá is ur turf.”

I skidded to a stop. Took a few steps back so I could see everything together: “Podestá is ur turf.”

Before Walter sold his motorbike, Miseria asked him to teach her to ride. Walter had said no and Miseria had answered:

“I don’t mean now. Out there, when you get another one.”

Out there, like we were headed to China.

Miseria and Walter were almost a block ahead of me.

Alone, stopped in front of the gas station, I slipped off my shoes and pressed my feet into the earth. I pressed down hard and read the graffiti a couple more times. It was time to go.

I crouched, reached down. The earth was cold but pleasant: it was earth, not trash or dust. Earth from here. I grabbed a bit, clasped it in my hand. Would the earth know I’d been there?

I stood up and stuffed it in my pocket.

I slipped my shoes on again and hurried to catch up with Walter and Miseria.