It was early--well before 8:00 a.m. It was cloudy and unseasonably cool as well.
Still, what was most unnerving was not the weather nor the time. It was just how quiet the Streets of Laredo were at that hour. It was just a few hours earlier, on Saturday night, that I drove down a rocking and rolling San Bernardo Avenue on my way home. And now, as I moved in the opposite direction, it was like a ghost town. The beer runs were closed. The street walkers were gone. The drunks were not jay walking to get to el Lazy Mex club. And, the no-tell motels were quiet, sans Sanchos and Movidas.
It hit me later, long after I returned home after what was then considered a family emergency, that it dawned on me. Sunday mornings are a special time in the ol' homestead. There were a few people out. People were, in fact, washing their cars and getting ready for the lazy day ahead, the smell of carne asada embers still lingering in the morning air.
I have mixed feelings about Sundays. They are the last day before I have to start work again. I have had a love-hate struggle with the day since I was in high school. But, today I remain at peace with the Sabbath.