"Please Do Not Push The Buttons With Fuel Pump Nozzle"

I slept in today, and woke to see the table set with food and drink waiting patiently for me to eat. It has been like this everyday with Luis and Eva, except today it us four hours later than normal. Today is first in which I have not left with Luis to his work. Instead of walking around Palos Grandes and the famous Parque Miranda, where four people were kidnapped (raptados) on monday, I sit on the couch with a broken computer, listening to construction taking place behind me.

I have been handed the task of dragging the children of Luis away from the television and bringing them outside to a nearby park. It is nearly 11 and I have not done so yet. Their vacation started Tuesday and I have not seen them but a few moments without electronics. I have seen Luis say countless times to his son, Victor (16), "muevete" ("get moving"), and Victor remain unmoved. Luis will say it enough so that his voice ("muevete, muevete") becomes a part the cities soundscape like a hammer at a distant work site. Victor's reaction is very different from that of his sister, who is much more like a firework (fuego articicial) that spins wildly upward emitting a high-pitched tinny whistle, requiring only the slightest spark to be set-off. Victoria, who speaks english enthusiastically, forming words and phrases with no point other than to see how they feel (like poking a pound cake (ponque) to check the texture), is thirteen. Her outbursts are an exuberant expression of a teenage girls pent up energy, and are always accompanied by funny faces and the high-pitched tinny whistle, which I believe to be words (though one cannot be sure) strung together so quickly that the sound waves, like the sentence, become one amplified, indecipherable noise.

In reality they are very pleasant, very modern children. Last night, I sat with Luis and Victoria after buying my first Venezuelan phone, and I had a fine moment of relaxation. On my left was the fuel for the machine that drove the family forward, and on the right was the Engineer that designs the machine that directs the energy into a state of coherency. I remained self-conscious, speaking when possible, reveling in the intelligence and patience of the engineer and brightness emitted from the energy as it burned.