Down the airstrip where the trail runs through pastureland the gauchos are passing a carton of wine. I’ll have to walk past them to get to town.

I thought about weapons. Gauchos always have hand tools and knives. Then he said, “Como anda señor?” We made eye contact.

THE AIRSTRIP BY DAVID MILLER 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 11

Down the airstrip where the trail runs through pastureland the gauchos are passing a carton of wine. I’ll have to walk past them to get to town. It’s all open here and they can see me approaching. I think about cutting across the field where the horses are. The gauchos would see me though. I don’t want them to perceive that I’m avoiding them. This place is small and you see the same people every day.

I keep walking forward and looking around so my body language hides what I’m thinking. The horses have their heads down in the grass. The number 36 is painted on the end of the airstrip. The numerals are elongated so pilots can read them from the air. I think about how 36 was my age just before we moved here.

The gauchos keep passing the wine. The brand name on the cartons is Nativo. You see the empty cartons al…