The moon was a thin, bright machete cutting its way through the patches of clouds. By its sharp light I could see my father stop and turn to face me. With his shrinking and my height, we were now eye to eye” (Alvarez 89).
• “The tables are pushed back and the music starts, though I wonder that they don’t just move the party indoors. There is a strong breeze, announcing rain. Every once in a while, a gust topples a glass or caravel, and there’s a loud crash. The soldiers patrolling the edges of the party reach for their guns” (Alvarez 96).
• “He yanks me by the wrist, thrusting his pelvis at me in a vulgar way, and I can see my hand in an endless slow motion rise- a mind all its own- and come down on the astonished, made-up face. And then the rain comes down hard, slapping sheets of it. The tablecloths are blown off the tables, dashing their cargo onto the floor. The candles go out. There are squeels of surprise. Women hold their beaded bags over their heads, trying to protect their foundering hairdos” (Alvarez