“Everyday, Aunt Pepa, everyday.”
She opens up the door of the car parked on the sidewalk along with the others as I get off the bus.
When the weather is cold, or she wants to listen to music, Aunt Pepa sits in her son’s car,
always pointed at the white bucket with her rakiya on top.
“I mean of course, do you know how good this rakiya is?”
I bend over to give her a hug.
“You know I know! I’ve bought it many times.”
“Which is why you should buy more!”
“It’s better than Dancho’s, or that one guy’s on the 4th floor, or that Armenian’s!”
Uh oh. Aunt Pepa knows I’ve been trying a little bit of everyone of block 9’s rakiya.
“You’re right, it is good.” I assure her.
“A taaakaaa.” It’s like this.
She shakes her head and smiles.
“Now buy yourself a bottle before you head upstairs.”
In my apartment I set down all my bags, and on my tiptoes to reach the top of the cabinets, add the new bottle next to the other ones, varying in shades of golds.