The Buenos Aries Hustle

<p>Her husband was in Buenos Aries to visit family and friends. She invited me to hike with her in West Marin. Point Reyes, Bolinas. Olema. It wasn&rsquo;t the first or the last time I asked myself, how did I get here? Answers, as always, proved to be elusive.</p> <p>Long hike. Not very good food at the hippie run restaurant in Point Reyes. Drove back in my red pickup, soft, rolling hills, the always fresh Marin air alive through rolled down windows. She cried.</p> <p>Out of nowhere, she cried. Later that night she called, and all the times after when she called, she announced herself as if that might make a difference: This is &mdash; . Followed by: I am sad. Who isn&rsquo;t? I should have asked.</p> <p><a href="https://medium.com/@pbrown963/the-buenos-aries-hustle-b344a896ef2"><strong>Read More</strong></a></p>