He glanced at Marta. She nodded. He glanced at Chuy. The pipefitter cracked his knuckles. “We’re with you, viejo.”
“Buenos días, Don Javi,” said Marta, a corrosion technician. She was the first on board, always sitting in the third row, by the emergency window. “Same seat, same life.” transporte de personal pemex
“Hold on,” Don Javier announced over the PA. “We’re going off-script.” He glanced at Marta
Outside the depot, the first employees began to arrive. They shuffled through the pre-dawn darkness, fluorescent vests glowing like ghostly fireflies. He watched them board: the welders with their thick gloves, the safety inspectors with their clipboards, the young chemical engineers smelling of soap and ambition, and the old perforadores (roughnecks) who smelled of coffee and yesterday’s fatigue. The pipefitter cracked his knuckles
The first hour was silent. Workers napped, their heads lolling against the headrests. Don Javier kept his eyes on the road. He knew every pothole. He knew where the previous year’s floods had eaten away the shoulder. He knew that a sleepy driver here meant a bus full of broken bones or worse.
The bus rattled over a bridge spanning a murky river. Below, a crocodile slid off a mudbank.