There must be pothole gods. Or demons. Or entities.
Otherwise — now that our road is fixed and well-drained — why do all the potholes (pozos, same word as well) form right around our driveway?
Today a little kid — just-removed-the-training-wheels little — fell in one of them. Mama cajoled him, stopped his crying, encouraged him back in the saddle to ride on.
And perhaps admonishing him: next time, be careful around THOSE PEOPLE’s driveway.
