Selena Anando Pt 1

The sun, large and orange rises over the motherly shadowing mountains and gleefully paints various shades of orange tint of joy at a new day. The small city of secluded stone below shuffles out the door and gets to the day's work in the narrow alley's workplaces. Streetside vendors open up carts, pitch tents anything to make them more noticed to the passers-by. Old men lean on their canes and slowly hobble with a box under their arms to the dusty town square to play chess in their hat and sunday best, drinking tea all the while. Parents tug little blond children along the sidewalk in little school uniforms hurridly in fear of being late again. A few minuets later, teenagers are seen sporting mohawks dyed every color imaginable, heavy make-up, the latest fashions and heavy metal pours out of the portable device plugged into their ears and into their brain. They smoke the white tubes of death and look around aimlessly for the next high to come along. The teens gather near the Fuente De Delmarre in the town square near the old men in their hats, sunday best, all drinking tea. The chuch steeple near the square chimes 10 o'clock and the wives of the men in their hats and sunday best, drinking their tea show up to feed the birds and talk about local gossip. The birds they are feeding are as grey as the stone that encases them and the women are striking in their pastel colored skirts, dresses and white blouses. The clock strikes 11 and the women are smiling and chatting somewhat droningly, the the men are too engrossed in their game to care about anything else and the teens are trying to stay together and stay in the shadows of which they seem to love. The bells toll noon and everyone flies away to mass. They come out at one, go home eat a lot, go out some more and get up and do it again. All is the same to the strange ones in Selena Anando.