A Moment on the Camino
“Hay alguien sentado aqui?” A man asked. “Is someone sitting here?” He asked again with crisp and perfect English. The boy looked up and shook his head, and moved his dusty bag for the stranger. The old man eased on the wooden stool with a groan. He had approached the table from out of nowhere. The boy did not know this man. He wore faded shorts, a dirty shirt, a brim sun hat lined with dried sweat - the look of a traveler without the traces of wear on his face. He placed his hat and a black book wrapped with a felt leather strap near his tall glass of dark beer and looked up at the boy with ease only familiarity or confidence could provide. The boy did not know this man. He did not tell him to leave.