Enrique Ch 02
We were eating, and Zelia sat to my right, but far down the table, close to our guest, Enrique, who sat opposite me, at the far end, so that we were facing one another. I could hear his hand rubbing along the fabric of my wife’s capris, the ones with the bluish posterboard print that fit her curves perfectly and glorified that big round behind of hers, which, according to Zelia, drove Enrique crazy whenever he saw it. They spoke in Spanish, and Zelia would occasionally translate for me, though...