A few weeks ago I had a visit from a locksmith, Carlos. My apartment door lock had gotten stuck somehow and the key wouldn't open despite my best and repeated efforts. Finally I caved and called in help.
Carlos was a nice guy and we talked about what I was doing down here, his moto that was being held together by wires in many places, and the evils of drinking in excess. After handing him my fistful of lempiras to pay for his work, I asked for a receipt. He pulled out his pad of receipts and looked at it uncertainly. Carlos was illiterate. He said he had trouble with the long words so I helped him spell "llavin". He was probably 25-30 years old. Nice guy. I have a standing offer to go and play cards with him and his friends at the gas station by City Mall whenever I want. I've got his number so it just might happen.
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