“A la izquierda, la muerte! A la derecha, la gloria!” shouted Don Pepe, the driver, a man with no teeth and an angel’s confidence. He spun the wheel. The chiva—a riot of neon paint, hand-painted flowers, and a grinning devil on the tailgate—lurched right.
She hadn’t understood then. Now, bouncing between a man playing a ragged accordion and a woman balancing a tray of natilla and bunuelos , she began to. Juliana Navidad A La Colombiana Chiva Culiona
“A la izquierda, el pasado. A la derecha, la gloria.” “A la izquierda, la muerte
“Merry Christmas!” Juliana yelled, and the crowd yelled back, “ Juliana! Juliana Navidad! ” “A la izquierda
