Erasmo Guerra

My bus is called. Outside, the afternoon air smells of exhaust and escape—the oily heaviness of leaving or being left—and I get in line behind the other passengers. A solid, middle-aged woman with a bad dye-job and perm grabs my … Read More

I laid out my pin-striped suit, a Paul Smith that cost too much, but I’d bought it anyway because there were a number of weddings I had to attend. This would be the third. As I got ready, I blasted Whitney … Read More

Once More to the River BY ERASMO GUERRA ach summer, as a young girl, Maria Guadalupe crossed the Rio Grande into Mexico to spend the long months at the ranch that belonged to her mother’s family. They rode to the … Read More