Un pollo

While I write this, a chicken stares me down in a shack of a bus station in Zona 1 of Guate city. A lady is yelling about selling tortillas while balancing a box of meals on her head. A child is repeating her for fun, while hopping up and down the seats of the station.
The first leg of my journey is slowly ending. My spanish is currently terrible and I can barely communicate with a few memorized phrases. I didn't exchange enough money and barely have enough for my trip to flores.
The plane ride was good. We ran late, because I overslept, but the plane to Houston caught up by being 30 min late and then the plane to guate was 40 min late taking off. Then we arrived 15 min late. My backpack was on one of the last carts to come off the plane and I was def freaking out.
The sun's shining and it's beautiful. My can driver didn't understand a word, but I got to the right place.
I starved for a good hour while carrying my 50lb pack. So I found a place after 2 hours to place it while I looked around. With all the sketchy cafes and restaurants, a pair of golden arches saved me. And all was good again.