Counting Obejas

Counting Obejas

Whenever I can’t sleep, I count obejas. Not sheep. No ovejas. Obejas. Achy Obejas, to be precise. Though her stories could provoke insomnia for sure. They’re tough stories, punching stories. Uppercuts. They hit you in the middle of the eye. They hit you in the middle of the nose. They break your jaw. They break your mouth. They hit you in the middle of the chest. They break you. In the inside.

Read more