The third entry and last of the cemetaries. Setting off at about two, we saw plumes of smoke coming from the university area. A woman we passed urged caution as "people were being rounded up." We were heading in the opposite direction, to the northern edge of the city and the tiny cemetary of Sn Filipe del Agua. It, too, was bustling, but in an more familiar, everybody-knows-everybody, small town kind of way. We sat on the massive knarled roots of a huge tree, just watching families go about their business, arm-loads of flowers. Sweeping, washing, making flower crosses and hearts, a few painting. A group of kids playing a roudy game of tag. One pair, obviously brothers. The older, concerned about his younger brother, kept yelling "Goose! Dame la mano!" And you would see Goose
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