Myami

Myami was alive and vibrant in the afternoon sun. People moved around the city, talking, laughing, and engaging in various activities as they shifted through their daily routines.

The front of the university was lined with merchants selling their wares and street performers entertaining crowds with music, dancing, and other forms of entertainment. The smell of food wafted through the air, as did the smell of body odor and refuse from the city's garbage heaps. A faint smoke scent also appeared to be present in the mixture, giving the otherwise motley air polluted undertones.

Kevin and Clay walked, taking in the sights and sounds around them. Kevin, in particular, looked around in visible awe and wonder. This hadn't been the first time he'd seen this area, but the first time had been through the window of a carriage. It was a far more novel experience on foot.

He took in the buildings, the facades, and the people around him as Clay walked behind him. It seemed that everyone was lost in their own world, paying no attention to anything around them.

As a carriage passed by, Clay shouted and waved to get the driver's attention.

The carriage came to a stop. It was open on the sides and the driver sat on a wooden bench. Behind him were rows of seats.

Clay looked at Kevin and said, "Come in."

Kevin followed Clay as he climbed into the carriage.

The driver turned around in his seat and looked at them, saying in accented Yankish, "Where do you want to go sirs."

Clay replied "Little Havana."

"That'll be seven copper pennies."

Clay grumbled as he dug through his pockets and paid the fare. The driver snapped the reins on the horses in front of the carriage, who promptly raced ahead, pulling the carriage back onto the street, and continued down the road, past other carriages and pedestrians.

As they rode, Kevin sat silently, taking in the sights of the city. After 8 minutes, the carriage stopped.

"Little Havana passengers get off"

Kevin stepped out of the car first, almost falling over as he hit the ground. He spent some time trying to get his bearings.

Clay followed suit gracefully. As the carriage behind them drove away, he stretched his arms out and said, "This is Little Havana"

The buildings were made of colorful clay bricks; like the rest of Myami, the streets were lined with palm trees and vendors selling goods from carts as people either walked about or stood still chatting in their own small groups while smoking what appeared to be cigars. Men were dressed in light colored guayabera shirts and slacks with many wearing white porkpie hats while the women nearby either wore brightly colored bata cubana dresses or simple white guayabera blouses and skirts. The older mature looking women wore head wraps of all colors and designs. The air smelled of smoke, cooking food, and salt.

The pair began walking. They were both dressed in simple clothing, however here the contrast their clothes had compared to locals made it obvious to the locality that they were outsiders visiting.

The two kept conversation to a minimum, as Kevin's primary interest was in the scenery around him. After a few minutes of walking, they passed by a food stand right outside a small shabby two-story townhouse with a golden brown facade. The vendor behind the stand was of average height, with black hair, brown eyes, and light skin. His attention was focused on a stove to his right, which was cooking what looked like brown dough. As they walked by, the complex smell of the dough, and burned fat mixed with spices, hit Kevin's nose. He took in the scent, after which his stomach audibly made its hunger known, causing him to stop in his tracks.

Clay turned back and asked, "Are you alright?"

Kevin nodded and said, "Yeah I'm just hungry."

"I see. Why don't we get something to eat then?"

The vendor, noticing that the two had stopped, and smiled. Speaking loudly in a lightly accented Myamian accent, he said, "Churros? how many do you want?"

Clay opened his mouth to speak, however seeing a chance to use the Yankish he'd been studying, Kevin spoke first.

"Yes, two please!"

"Four copper pennies."

Kevin dug through his pockets for 30 seconds, ten being genuine, the rest out of embarrassment.

How do I say I'm penniless in Yankish?

Clay and the vendor stood and watched in awkward silence until Kevin confessed,

"No money"

The vendor was not sympathetic. "No money, no churro."

The two stared at each other as the vendor prepared to shoo the impoverished men away. Clay sighed and dug through his pockets. He took out four copper pennies and set them on the counter.

The vendor quickly counted before putting them into a nearby cup.

"Your order will be ready in a minutes."

The vendor moved his attention back to the cooking dough. Feeling the heat intensify, Kevin and Clay took shelter in a nearby palm trees shade.

Kevin leaned on the trunk and said in silicon english, "I'm surprised the food is this cheap 4 pennies is incredible"

Clay's face contorted in horror. Visibly disturbed by the comment, he asked, "Were you perhaps wealthy before being frozen?"

Kevin chuckled "Not at all, if I had money I probably would've never agreed to getting myself frozen"

Clay's look changed from one of mental distress and disturbance to the look of pity typically shown to the mentally ill and handicapped.

"I suppose you wouldn't know how things work now. American money is divided into three denominations, the lowest being copper pennies. Next to them are silver dollars, one of which is equal to 50 copper pennies. The highest denominations are gold dollars. These are made of paper and are worth 100 silver dollars. If you work hard enough, we might earn one before we hit the age 50. Of course, that's assuming we ever have enough money to get one, but I digress. The important thing is that this isn't cheap at all. Most people in this neighborhood probably make one or two silver dollars a week."

Kevin nodded in understanding as he called back to the incident at the stand. While most of his needs were being met by the university, he still wanted to have some money for himself, if only so he could buy trinkets and other conveniences for himself. Having his own money would also make him a bit more independent. Being taken care of by the university made him feel like a grade schooler living with their parents.

Is this what I am to them? A helpless child who needs a babysitter to hold their hand and make sure they behave?

Regardless of what Clay or Dyson's opinions, he was determined to one day leave the university and start his own life in this world. Using what he just learned, Kevin pondered on the subject. To eventually become independent, he'd first need a basic grasp of Yankish. The way to do that was obvious the university was providing him with free lessons. All he had to do was pay the University back by answering the questions they had for him and doing the things they told him to.

The next pressing matter were his non existent finances, as of the current moment he had nothing to his name

I don't even own the clothes on my back. If the university is keeping track, then I'm actually in debt.

The thought of debt brought back painful memories, but Kevin quickly banished them. Thinking about his parents right now only brought unbearable pain to his heart. As Kevin contemplated, the food stand vendor shouted out, "Your orders are finished. Come, take them!"

The two men walked over. As they did, a ball crashed into Clay's head, causing him to fall over.

The vendor looked shocked, while Kevin burst out laughing. As Clay rubbed his head, a short and skinny boy wearing a green guayabera shirt and dark green shorts ran up to the food stand. He was about 9 years old, with black hair and brown eyes.

He panted heavily as he looked at Kevin and Clay on the ground. "Eta ball pertenece mí."

The vendor scowled at the boy and scolded him in Cubano, as the boy grabbed his ball and ran off to play football with a group of other children further down the street.

The vendor looked at Clay and said, "Are you ok?"

Clay said "I'll be alright" as Kevin helped him up.

The vendor apologetically explained, "Those kids keep hitting me and my customers when they play football. I don't know what to do with them. I swear to San Babalú-Lázaro I'll give the next one a good beating!" He then grabbed the churros and covered them with honey and cinnamon before wrapping them in banana leaves. As he handed them over, he said, "I hope you enjoy. Please come again."

Kevin and Clay each took a bite. The churros were warm. The outside was sweet and crispy, while the inside felt soft and fluffy. Its taste was sweet and had a hint of cinnamon and heavily complemented by a strong buttery aftertaste.

As the two ate, they saw a girl walk behind the food stand. She had black hair, brown eyes and a pink flower hairpin. She was about 9 years old and was wearing a light pink dress that came to her ankles.

As she approached, she gave the vendor a hug. The man responded by patting her head and smiling warmly as the two began speaking. The pair seemed to be father and daughter from the way they interacted.

Not wanting to disturb them, Kevin and Clay left the area and moved deeper into Little Havana.