Yajaira Bruna, a young man many considered part of the few, was walking along an ill-lit street late on Friday night. Fresh from celebrations with his brethren, he was slightly inebriated and smelled of a hint of cumin.
His left shoe was missing and his walk staggered from a combination of his dragging toe, bloodied by the loss of nail, and the level of alcohol in his system.
Pausing every few steps to lean up against a tree, a fence or a pole, saliva drooled in pools all over his clothes.
Taking to a stranger's mailbox, he unloaded the results of the previous few hours. Of drinking, of eating, and of licking the ceremonial boot, centrepiece to a third of the night's activities.
Watching on from the porch, the resident who owned the mailbox disappeared to the side of his property. Emerging seconds later, he charged at Bruna to deliver a barrage of blows to the side of the drunken man's head.
Stained with the blood of the stranger, the man off the porch continued the beating. On the knees, the elbows and every other joint and section. With the bones of the skeleton made supple, he dragged the body of Bruna over by the side of the house.
Tossing the limp and lifeless corpse into a hole, he then proceeded to the pour cement from the mixer quietly spinning by. Now having found a suitable underground base holder for the flag pole, he returned back to his garden plans to decide on petunias or lilacs.
Eggplant now seemed like another option for the front yard.
Written on Tuesday, 24 January 2006