SILENCE! FUCKING!

I'm playing the guitar, enjoying the early afternoon. I can still taste the orange just consumed.
"Misster Willliam," says a familiar voice. "Tocando la guitara."
It's my fantastic viejo communist neighbor. He's 80. Has an absurd, toothless grin that makes me blush. And loves to talk shit. Long ago, he abandoned any social etiquette or standards, such as beginning conversations with "hello" or "how are you?" Old man loves to rehash all of the anti-american leftist news he's just heard on his radio, directing it at me in the form of boasts or accusations. We both allow this to happen, and thoroughly enjoy it, because he knows im not some gringo asshole, and i know he's not some nutjob militant, though we pretend to be.
"Looks like La CIA got rid of the Honduran President," he says.
"yea. 'bout fuckin time," i say.

But then he remembers why he knocked on my door. "Playing the old guitar again, huh?"
"Yea. I can sing too. Yo voy caminando, al monte donde yo nací….”
Luis tries to stop me, in spanish, but to no avail. So he shouts the only two words in English he knows: "SILENCE!!! FUCKING!!!"
So i shut right the fuck up.
And then we both laugh.
And then we talk for a few more minutes. About girls and politics. And soccer.
He shakes my hand, turns to face the world.
"Cuídate, Gringo."
You too, viejo.