Today, I went with my family to San Juan Bautista to celebrate my 35th birthday, two days early.
As we were coming upon the small mission town, dark clouds swirled over the town, as if they were there only for us. There was a street festival going on. There were bikers clad in leather strolling the streets and small brown children with carrying paper cut animals and women with fabric flowers in their hair and some in knee high leather boots that click clacked on the old streets. Meat and corn in husks grilled in all four corners of the town.
My mother asked me what the town was like when there was no festival. It’s like a ghost town, I told her. A ghost town, but very beautiful.