I feel like I’m fading, Juan said, his voice a dry whisper. My head spins, and my chest is a storm.
Juan felt the room tilt. He looked out the window at the bustling streets of Santo Domingo, where the sun beat down on the asphalt. It felt as though he were standing on the edge of a great canyon, and the only way across was a thin, fraying wire. Juan Luis Guerra - El niagara en bicicleta
The neighbor grinned, wiping grease on a rag. I’m halfway across the falls, Juancho! Just don't look down! I feel like I’m fading, Juan said, his voice a dry whisper
By the time he reached his street, the dizziness hadn't vanished, but it had transformed. It wasn't the vertigo of falling anymore; it was the lightheadedness of a dance. He waved to his neighbor, who was fixing a car with nothing but duct tape and prayer. Keep pedaling! Juan shouted over the roar of the engines. He looked out the window at the bustling
It is like trying to cross the Niagara Falls on a bicycle, the doctor continued, finally looking Juan in the eye. We are all pedaling in the air, hoping the wind doesn't pick up.
When the nurse finally called his name, she didn't look up from her clipboard. She led him down a hallway where the tiles were cracked and the air was thin. They reached a room where a doctor sat behind a desk piled high with yellowing files. The doctor’s stethoscope hung around his neck like a tired snake.