“Your tattoo is beautiful. What does it say? A name? Viajera. I used to have a girlfriend with a tattoo. We were together for four years but last summer we broke up.”
The produce man timidly smiled at me as I look him in the eyes. He is middle-aged and rather round but has the harmless air of, well, a produce man, so I don’t feel uncomfortable.
“She told me she had enough money for the rest of our lives. She was an artist working with leather. But I could not leave, travel is not for me, and so we parted ways.”
It is an incredibly honest tale told with child-like vulnerability. I empathize and convince him someone else will be better for him.