Memorial a los detenidos desaparecidos de

dough and her mouth, smearing her lipstick and leaving a trail of grease on her chin; her appetite attracts Gonzalo, and he bites into his own empanada, wanting to finish it quickly. The filling is different from the pino that Maqueta makes—the olives and eggs and raisins are chopped into the ground beef instead of mixed in whole—and he doesn't like it as much, but it's more than good enough for right now. He closes his eyes for a moment to enjoy it, a habit of his with both food and sex, and when he opens them the micro to Limache is at the far end of the plaza.

For a split second Gonzalo is angry, wishes it had come twenty minutes earlier or twenty minutes later, but before the thought's even formed he's already running towards the micro. He can hear Yesica chasing after him, high heels clacking, calling out with her mouth full, "Wait, we haven't had any fun yet," but he ignores her. The driver is already flickering the headlights, signaling that he's about to start, and Gonzalo flails his arms and makes himself run faster, knowing that this is the last one to Limache for the night. If he doesn't get on this micro, he won't get to be with Maqueta tonight. He won't get to wake his daughters up early in the morning to juice oranges and fry eggs for them like he always does on Saturdays. He'll have to spend the night in a whore's room above the Quillota plaza, and now he can't believe that he ever wanted to go there at all. He can see into the micro now, and he waves his arms to attract the driver's attention in the rearview mirror. The half-eaten empanada flies out of his grasp, but the doors stay open and he grabs the rail on the side of the micro with his greasy hand and swings himself inside, and as soon as he's firmly on the stairs the driver closes the door and shifts into gear. "Thank you," Gonzalo pants, "thank you very much, senor," and the man smiles and says, "All the way to Limache, no?" "That's right," Gonzalo says, slipping a tenpeso coin into the fare box. "How'd you guess?" "You lived closer in, you wouldn't have run like that." He laughs, and as Gonzalo settles into a seat he pictures himself sprinting to the micro, how desperate he must have looked—how desperate he was. He glances out the foggy window and sees Yesica curled on a bench with her shoulders hunched and chin tucked in like a cat, watching something in front of her. At first he can't see what she's looking at, but as the bus rounds the corner the headlights sweep over the plaza and Gonzalo sees the black dog and the wolf-dog fighting again. The wolf-dog has something clenched tightly in its jaws and is whipping its shoulders back and forth to shake off the black dog, which has dug its teeth deep into the bigger animal's hackles. They're moving in a slow, shaky circle, and as they come close to Yesica she w stretches, stands, and knees the black dog off the J wolf-dog. Both of them run away, past the micro ^ and into the street, and as they go by Gonzalo G) sees his half-eaten empanada gripped in the wolf- o dog's teeth. Yesica looks at them and then at the o micro and Gonzalo waves at her half-heartedly; she doesn't wave back, but from the look on her 9 face he's sure that she noticed.