(note: I got poetic today about drinking mtn dew, which I use as both an occasional treat and to curb blood sugar spikes. I did this while I should have been doing any number of other things. My creativity is on an upward trend; will you visit my blog when I'm on the other side of the trend, posting utter crap?)
Mil Lesiones was like Ole Yeller: he came back mean. He died the death of a thousand cuts, being wounded by tiny insults until finally it was too much and he crawled away to die. But he came back, just as I threaten a Wallsmart Easter Parable, does Mil Lesiones chainsaw his way through haters.
From the shadows, a mask that covers a sneer and hard eyes.
I believe if someone slaps you, you punch them twice. It's retribution over-quantified, a teachable moment for a lesser sort. A slap on the nose is a lesson most people remember, those learned the hardest, which last the longest.
So there is Mil Lesiones, lurking in the backroom of the hubcap store. When you walk around the building to check on caps for an Aries K, you'll see his mask in the window, as if a demon had emerged from hell, into the gloom, just to stand and watch you, and maybe you're body temperature drops rapidly in spite of the hot sun beating down on you. You think durn climate change, as you shudder, but the truth stays with you as you keep an eye on the building, lest the demon should come running.
And there is always the chance of being run down by a demon.