A hard bus station bench made poor company for Julio. People shuffled this way and that in the sad sort of way that they do on sunny days not suited for the drudgery of automotive travel en masse. The warmth of the morning’s scene had make Julio think of returning.

A long bus ride to El Paso. A night at his cousin’s house. One more bus ride over the border. Sleeping at the home of a more distant relative. A long, dusty ride in the back of a truck.

And he could be home. He could return, shamed though he was. He might even be welcomed as had been the little girl.

His shames began to compile themselves before him. Fleeing the woman he loved because of a silly family fight. Not returning when she wrote to say she was pregnant. Spending his money on Tequila instead of sending it to the son he’d never seen. All those nights in the Montefort house, playing the part of Joseph with Potiphar’s wife, only not so nobly done.

The time came, and he boarded his bus, bound shamefully for Pittsburg.