Group 56 COS

The Epic of Group 56 por Erin McCartan
It was two years ago in Washington, DC we met, We
thought, “We’re off to save the world, this, the chance we
get!”
The time soon came for “Operation
Adjustment” phase two…and to kick
us some “campo” reality only Santa
Rita de Chorrera would do.
We spoke of future BFFs and shared a final drink, then stayed
up chatting all night about who would swim…and who would The Peace Corps Mobiles nare came
to a stop, then threw us out of the car
sink.
with our bags. Plop.
With excitement and wonder we boarded the plane, wonderWith a “suerte” and an evil laugh
ing when it would be we’d eat a real meal again.
heard from Gil, we met our new famiWe arrived at our new home in the dark of night, the lights of lies and were given our first home-cooked meal.
the city and the canal shimmering bright.
While meal plans varied throughout the fair city, rice was a
staple for all, ah, the pity.
We were greeted at the gate by quite a troupe—some tall
blonde guy kept mentioning stuff about poop…
At this point our big happy group split into two,
There was a shorter type high-fiving and yelling “HEY!!!”— EH and CED, but which group was who?
enter crazy Bolivian, personality: Type A.
Those with machetes and rubber boots, clearly part of the EH
The heat hit us and the bus we boarded, lots o’ luggage and
group…sounds cool until you realize all they do is talk about
all, and in front of us was a fabulously bearded gentleman
poop.
giving roll call.
CEDers can be blamed for the rule of professional dress, their
The importance of this soft-spoken Panamanian none of us
laptops and constant professionalism: just part of what makes
yet knew, but shortly we came to realize…without this suave them the best.
man what were we to do?
Personally, my time in Santa Rita is best forgot.
We were nested into Peace Corps living in Ciudad del SaBut so much was learned during training, I’ll give it a small
ber…bad food, no air conditioning, talk of latrines…what,
spot.
what? Where?
For how can one forget, the heat, the hot…and that fine Taty
It was here that the term “dinámica” was introduced, and I’m Lorena, a fabulous drinking spot.
sure we’re all in accord that its inventor should be noosed!
The dogs and roosters and things less pleasing…is it the cockThe language interviews arrived and put most of us in a
roach or the nasty latrine that has me sneezing?
pout…“Why is he only speaking Spanish, and what is this
‘Body of Peace’ he keeps talking about?”
Four hours of tech sure was sweet, followed by four hours of
Spanish, then go chat with your host families—neat!!!
During our first week we were actually shown a volunteer’s
site, then later that day brought to Albrook where we thought, Then sites were announced and we were all ready to go, but
“OK, phew, everything is still alright!”
tech week and cultural weeks put a kink in the flow.
As the week progressed, more characters came aboard…Gil,
always handing out money with the presence of a drug lord.
Maria Elena roared onto the scene berating us in Spanglish…
we could only go to places, “Zone Green!”
Lourdes and Emelia also joined the crew, sticking us with
needles and discussing all you wanted to know about pu pu.
During this time it became clear the CED group was way
Type A, and let’s be honest, some of us were hoping others
would just go away.
Some had it better than others as romance bloomed, while
others (Patrick) realized long distance relationships were perhaps doomed.
It was here that G56 bochinche was born and grew…should I
The big man Peter was also involved, bombarding us with PC mention a few gems? Nah. Ha. Ok, well, maybe just a
acronyms like, ET…i.e. you’re dissolved!
few…
Heather and Brandon I heard are an item…
Caleb left town, hey, who am I to fight ‘em?
Our friend Dave was lost along the way, too.
Oh, and I heard Heather Balance went off to Timbuktu.
Mirj isn’t afraid to tell it how it is or to be tough,
Just ask IPACOOP or the ladron that tried to steal all of her
stuff!
Rachel told us during training of her vow to be sober and then
Jennifer got engaged and Alan Foster did too, but we all know wowed us with her spirited interpretive dancing which really
bowled us over!
who beat who to the old “I do”.
Drew and Dave both deserve mention for all the ladies
they’ve kissed, but they change so quickly, if I wrote a name
down, the next mami would be pissed!
Our charming, funny Chris chose carnaval to demonstrate his
provincial pride and yelled at the Santeños about deforestation on a float ride.
Glen got the memo a bit too late…Peace Corps is more than
baking brownies and going out on a date.
Kyle—the founding member of the Fan Club for Daddy Yankee, always on the hunt for a little hanky-panky.
Zack is planning on staying on a year through.
If you were Ozzie and accomplishing something, wouldn’t
you, too?
Alison—at once super chill and yet always ready to dance
like a fool. Also known for her signature fun earrings, which
totally rule.
Daub is still trying to
get some play. He’s
internet dating from
what I hear…ah, to
have a sight tan yeye.
Who’s footprints are
those? They must be
Escott’s! He’s always
packed with guitar, but
apparently that’s all he
gots.
Blake has been enamored by a sibling
of the crew, but with
that slow grin and
southern drawl
what’s a girl to do?
What’s there to say
about Andrea? I wish I
knew! But ask Miss
Closet Bochinchosa cuz
she knows the dirt on
you.
I’m afraid here from
my rhyme I must
digress, cuz to report
on Jon rhyming becomes a complete
mess.
Melissa’s not china, nor
is she Becca…this
Filipina’s glasses irreparable, but she’ll use
tape, what the hecka?
Why, is it, that my rhyme must stall? Because of course, Jon
was all…and then he was all…HAIR OF THE DOG! And I
was all…
So clearly while is Jon definitely worth a mention, my
rhyme—momentarily—had to go on suspension.
Christy, our busty blonde bombshell with her Latino lover,
sporting fine fashions that have us saying “keep it under
cover!” (We love you Christy!)
Matt’s so duro he won’t even buy one, but give Dule a fiddle
in the campo and we’ll have some fun!
Julie Majkrzak…Maj…Majks…to pronounce that one I need
to focus! After her third year I’m sure she’ll be known
throughout all of Bocas.
Lisa’s left Costa Rica and decided to move to David to give it
a go. She’s gonna give her yoga career a try…what, you didn’t know?
Jenni tried to rationalize her way out of the human knot, but
Becca has had some escapades that I should probably mention with the call to get naked her credibility was shot.
too…the Colombian waiter, and mean Drunk Becca, personJake, the force of the Ngäbe world takeover.
ality number two.
From the amount we’ve seen of this guy, not such a rover.
Josh has become one with nature in more ways than one. He
Pirouettes, scissor-hands, and other fine Brandon moves…
gives alms to Buddah and let’s the mosquitoes bite him, just
Secozilla: never afraid to show us how he grooves.
for fun.
Every time I’d hear tipico my hips would start shakin’, and
when the drunk boys would ask for a dance over…and over…
and over…this move I’d be making: (insert super-no finger
here)
Shakin’ it like a racataca in my hot plastic-strapped bra, hearing, “ayyyye, mami, ‘ta bien prity, I looooooooove you, ven
aca!”
Un pela’o casa’o me acercó y yo le jodí. Busted out solo to
Sandra screaming, “Alli mismo, assssiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!!”
For the 85th time came the pela’o bien triste.
I said, “Deja la vaina, ya tengo mi chombo, oiste?”
“I’m like” bochinchando about all there is to know, “I’m
like” wear, like, a like, condom, like, Heather Love...the
queen of the show.
Jeff, yes the taller, louder, and (let’s face it) funnier of the
two, but not there, tough guy, Cynthia's the boss of you!
Lane apparently has some worms up his butt.
Two I hear…where’d you get those? I hope from your hut.
Gracias a Dios I realized I was one with the culture, just as
our time was coming to an end like a hovering vulture.
How we’ve all changed from that weekend in DC…now
stronger and smarter then we ever thought we could be.
So those times you think your time was just a waste, remember that part of our job was to show part of America, just a
taste.
The fact that we’re here and made it through means we’ve
Hey, these are just things I’ve heard, I’m just going with the
flow. I spend my time floating out there on my isla, what do I accomplished something that not a lot of others could do.
know?
The sacrifices we’ve made cannot go unnoted, but what
we’ve gained over what we’ve given up…clearly, out voted.
What’s up with this culture, I’ll never fit in…
I say with a subtle point of my lips and my chin.
Did we save the world? It’s impossible to say…
But I see the strength in this group and know that at least
I’d chow on sancocho, CHUUUULETA it’s hot,
we’ve helped pave a way.
My nose’d start running, then I’d see how far I could shoot
my snot.
This phase ends and we move on to something new; Panama
Then to call attention I’d give a hsssst, hsssst, and wave a cab and the PC in our blood, something we can never undo.
down with a downward flick of the wrist.
Perhaps this next step might be a bit scary,
But we’ll enjoy success…si Dios quiere.
I’d tell them where I was going and how much I would pay,
and they’d mumble, “Aye, joven, I’m not going that way.”
I’d reach for the go-to quata in my ear and jump in the
packed out, pimped out diablo rojo NO FEAR.
I’d gyrate along to the reggaeton beat because no one
would actually move over to give me a seat.
The pavo flashed me a smile with his eight gold teeth…
chucha, missed my stop, qué va…I’ll wait five more feet.
My stop was at Samy y Sandra’s, sucked succulent skunked
beer, rockin’ my sequined-spandex tank top that reads, “My
face is up here.”
I switched from “buenas” to “oye, loco, qué sopá?”, insuring the maliantes recongnize aquí viene la panameña
gringa.
My Two Centavos por Chris Orvin
How does one start articles like these? I tried. I
looked at Group 55 and Group 54’s COS pages in La
Vaina. Yet nothing jumped out at me. Some humor,
some wisdom, some sappy emotionalism. All things
I’ve felt in the last three months. So then I looked at
all sort of quotes from books I had read during my
776 days in Panama to kick off an article. None of
them seemed to fit. I leafed through the great
thoughts of John Steinbeck, Adolous Huxley, Ernest
Hemingway, Somerset Maugham, Milan Kundera,
Kurt Vonnegut, Chuang Tzu and Henry Miller on
topics ranging from what it means to be an American
living in a foreign country to the nature of time and
the making of plans.
(PRETENTION
ALERT: this is where
you get impressed by
the breadth and quality of my reading).
And yet none of them
seemed to work, either.
So I wanted to look at
what had physically,
fundamentally, objectively and undeniably
changed in my overtwo-years here. The
list was interesting.
During two years I
got to say I conozco
five new countries, wrote five journals, read 47
books, sent fifteen bulk emails home, built one house,
learned how to mix concrete, ate 820 pounds of rice,
got four new scars and lost 17 old pounds, learned
how to cook, got my host-grandmother to say “¡Opa!”
when dancing tipico with me, got one guy in my town
to use SODIS, put on five theatrical performances,
and broke five umbrellas and eight pairs of chancletas.
influence of college on my life. So
I make no claims to understand
what Peace Corps will mean for me,
writing this article while still in Panama. Have I changed? Certainly.
But how? That I cannot tell.
What can I say at this point definitively? That, for my life, my service was an overwhelming success. I’d define success as enjoying oneself and learning. So in my two
years I had a lot of fun, and I learned a lot. This is
admittedly a very selfish definition of success, I suppose.
But then
again I’m a selfish
person. “Helping
people” doesn’t fit
into this definition.
And maybe with
time, as my ideas
and attitudes mature, this will fit
into a definition of
success. But the
word “help” is a
very difficult term
to pin down definitively, especially in the context of what is sustainable and unsustainable help. I
think we often don’t know when we are helping. I
had a friend in college who told me that I said some
things to him that were really helpful for him at that
point in his life. I can not, to this day, tell you what I
said to him to make that kind of impression. And yet
somehow, I offered him help when he needed it, unbeknownst to me. I feel this holds in Panama as well:
our coffee seminars and latrine-building and co-op
organizing may not be our real “help” to Panama. It
may be casually mentioning condom-use in an informal conversation or offhandedly remarking on the
importance of reading that really helps improve
someone’s life, and not all our diligent “work.”
And what has changed? I have found it takes me
about two years to understand anything (those of you
paying attention would realize I’m just now starting
to understand Group 56 training). It took me to the
sophomore year of college to understand high school. People’s impressions of Peace Corps often rely on an
And I’m only now starting to realize the effect and image of a bedraggled, unshaven American living in a
The temptation is strong to fall into the yawning cliché
trap to say it was all about the people and not the work;
it was about the “little things” that made the two years
of hardship and triumph and struggle and joy worth it
all. These things of course are undeniably true and I
believe them heartily. I could bring out sappy quotes
and nostalgic photos and play emotional music and tug
at all your heart strings. But I won’t. I want to try to
keep this a little more objective and analytical instead
of emotional. I hope you’ll forgive me, and the unexpectedly serious tone of this, my last La Vaina article.
I didn’t expect it either.
jungle hut, saving the lives of helpless indigenous children, building schools and latrines and hospitals. This
“saving the world” metaphor even shows up in our
conversations among each other. And we all feel varying degrees of discomfort with it. The world is not
ours to save. And yet, we who prescribe to a religious
worldview, would say that the world has already been
saved (of course this mythic, archetypical fact is transcribed into appropriate terms within the specific social, historical and linguistic framework of the religious
tradition). I would go so far to say that we have come
here not to save the world but to be saved by it. Our
goal is not not make people dependent on our help (as
if help were a one-way street), but rather to realize our
dependence on others. Our time here, if anything, I
hope teaches us a little about humility, about powerlessness, about frustration, in short about needing
someone’s help and rejoicing at receiving it. This lesson about the loss of power and control, in itself, will
make the two years all more than worthwhile.
“If not to help, then why did you come here?” you
ask legitimately. Because I was curious. That’s
why. The Reason Number One is that I wanted to
see what the world was like outside of my middleclass white university-educated American male
bubble. And I wanted to see if I could handle the
overwhelming host of challenges that confront
every Peace Corps volunteer. I wanted, as Beyonce once wryly quipped in “Bootylicious,” to
see if I “could handle this” (Returning to America, I plan to make my fortune by launching a
slick ad campaign for the Peace Corps: screw this
How Far Will You Go junk, I want to see Destiny’s Child asking me if I can “Handle This?” ...
Peace Corps ... “Can You Handle This?”).
What does Peace Corps do? It sends us home. And we
have to go. And we can never, as with any experience
in life, ever really “go back” to the way things used to
be, living here as volunteers. But we go home Americans newly enriched with incredible experiences. We
go to change the world (and be changed by it). We go
with stories and friends and experiences that
300,952,947 of our paisanos have not had. That’s
right, 99.93% of Americans never saw Mali or Cambodia or Panama or Turkmenistan like we did. And it is
our duty to be the ambassadors of the Real World to
Americans fretting over cold cappuccinos, office politics, someone cutting them off in traffic and Other
Things That Don’t Matter. Is it glamorous or profitable work? No, perhaps not. Is it important? Undeniably. To those of you who still are in the process of
changing and being changed by your two years in Panama, I wish you all the best. And welcome to the
club.
The Future of Group 56 por too many people to list
Blake and Amy:
Have many beautiful—yet very skinny—
children.
Alan Daub:
Marries long time sweetheart,
Jillbaby29.
Becca and Melissa:
Back in Panama running a chain of Philipinos.
Jennifer:
Gets married and has a dozen Tarheel
babies who also join Peace Corps Panama.
Andrea:
Uses her bochinche expertise to become
editor of the National Inquirer.
Lane and Dave:
After a minor accident on their
construction site (i.e. house collapses) the Matt:
two flee to South America to avoid pend- After winning the lumberjack contest,
ing fraud charges.
Matt sequesters himself in a cabin in
the woods, buries his winnings, and
proceeds to indulge in his ocular fixation.
Jake:
Converts to Mama tata and disappears
completely into Ngabeland.
Brandon and Heather:
Drew:
Goes crazy after striving for soap
perfection, moves into Matt’s log
cabin, and becomes a hermit.
Alan:
Can be found with a long beard and a
loin cloth, running an organic farm in
Hawaii.
Cynthia and Jeff:
Country Director and Diablo Rojo driver,
respectively.
Rachel:
President of the Tom Robbins fan club.
Chris:
Makes it big on Broadway with Peace
Corps safety and security skits which star
Matthew Broderick and Nathan Lane.
Kyle and Allison:
Life partners relationship is jeopardized
as Kyle sails away with sailor
number ??? while Allison becomes
relationship counselor after having run
the gamut of possible Peace Corps relationships.
Rejoin Peace Corps to “recapture the
magic”.
Mirjam:
Overthrows Dutch government in hostile
takeover.
Erin:
Puts public speaking skills to use and
becomes dictator of small isle in Pacific.
Josh and Lisa:
Finally discover the meaning of life.
Jenni and Eddie:
Owners of approximately 97% of the
Azuero.
Julie:
Incites women’s rights riots in
Changuinola.
Jon:
Loses readjustment allowance in David
Casino.
Christy:
Founder of Pi Chi/Panama Sorority chapter.
I am... por Christy Crais
Scott:
Finally finds his shoes.
Zach
Fi-
To my community, I am…
A first-class chef
Because I make popcorn and
birthday cakes.
An architect
Because I learned the
difference between a caballete
and a carriola
nally saves the world.
And those that didn’t make it…
Patrick
Becomes a millionaire after inventing
waterproof cigarettes.
Dave Z:
Gains fame from his multiplatinum
remix of the Cuerpo del Deseo theme
song.
A nurse
Because I put antibiotic cream
on wounds.
A teacher
Because I write straight on a
chalkboard in cursive.
A doctor
Because I discuss information
about AIDS.
A computer whiz
Because I type ‘rapido’
without looking at the
keyboard.
A health nut
Because I choose wheat
over white.
Caleb:
Turns his life around and becomes a
motivational speaker.
Glenn:
Corners the market on overpriced “solarpower baked” brownies for malnourished children.
Heather B:Medivac-ed back to Panama.
A math genius
Because I add and
multiply in my head.
A permanent invite to
special events
Because I own a digital
Camera
A
Profes
sional
athlete
Because
I run to
the
beach
And
back ...without stopping.
A beauty queen
Because I have blue eyes.
A friend
Because I go to the river
to play.
A neighbor
Because I give away extra
food.
A resident of Madre Vieja
Because I built my first home
there.
A success
Because I stayed.
Kyle and Allison’s Poetry Corner por the Life Partners
Sitting in their hammocks in little
indigenous villages in the Darien
for two years gave Allison and
Kyle lots of time to hone their
poetry skills. They are here to
share their art with you.
Allison’s ode to her life partner
Although I’ve made many a dear
friend in G56, none compares to
my LP…Kyle “Isabela” Irwin. A
limerick…
Kyle and Allison’s ode to the
Darien boyz
Chris, Alan, Matt, Dave, Drew
They really are quite a crew
Each with his own skills and
purview.
The theatre major, the mountain
men and the nerdy engineers;
On the surface very distinct, but
after a few beers,
A force to be reckoned with,
these Darien seers.
There once was a PCV
named Isabela,
Who was quite fond of the fellas.
She kissed them a lot,
You exposed us to the rich woody
And got them real hot,
flavor of Kentucky Cream,
But I always took her back,
You helped us debut on the
mi bella.
Darien PCV wrestling team,
And we even dabbled in the
Don’t even ask!
music and acting scene.
We will be unstoppable in any
Kyle’s ode to her life partner
future task.
But what really brought us
A lil limerick…
together? It was fine Lady
Just remember where you came
Darien.
There once was an
from and where it all starts,
Who many a Panamanian had
India blanquita name Allison.
Y recuerdan de tus compañeras,
deflowered again and again,
Pasearing wih her paruma tied
keep us in your hearts.
Yet we don’t care, we love and
tight impressed everyone.
We love you all…
She chanted “Que sopa mi fren”. appreciate her like an old friend.
we know that part.
Danced the mariposa like a
And now we diverge on our own
chabawera to the end.
Blood, Sweat, and Tears.
separate paths,
Without her I just could not be in
Could others do what we did?
the Darien.
Fast Forward por Becca Acuña (#1)
August 11, 2005 . The day group 56 arrived in Panama. It seems so long ago, or was it just yesterday? On that day, as we waited in the airport in
Atlanta to board our plane to Panama, I called my
friend on the phone. I told him - I don’t know about
this. I wish I could just fast forward two years. You
know, turn the page and move past the chapter entitled “The most challenging portion of my life …
EVER.”
Two years later, I realize that was one of the sillier
things I’ve ever said. We all had our mental stabilities tested these past 27 months. But those are
outweighed by all the unbelievably beautiful moments we’ve also experienced. There are so many
unforgettable memories.
How I am grateful for the memory of walking
down the road in Las Nubes on a sunny morning
and beholding the sight of 10 girls in their Sunday
dresses so happy to see me, that they took a running start towards me, screaming my name, racing
to be the first to hug me.
Or stuffing myself silly with homemade coco rice
and beef curry in the Darien with friends.
Or hiking to unknown waterfalls in the Comarca
and being in awe of their beauty.
Or consoling my neighbor in the middle of the
night after a nasty fight with her husband, who
doesn’t approve of her working outside the home.
Seeing her appreciative eyes finally made me feel
like I was making
a positive difference for
someone.
Or squeezing that
last bit of fermented-grape
goodness from a
box - It’s not wine
but it’s Clos!
Or finding the simple satisfaction in having my rice
come out perfectly cooked, not aguacha’o.
Or being grateful to my site mate for offering me
her patient and levelheaded words to help calm me
down after the all-too-common Peace Corps anxiety attack (What am I doing here? I can’t get anything done!)
Or realizing my heartfelt appreciation of water
heaters and flush toilets (though I do dig a wellmade composting latrine).
Or living in beach paradise in Kuna Yala for a few
days, allowing my mind to be as calm as the clear,
blue waters that surrounded me.
Or just finally realizing that the words “ sweet’,
“ass”, and “napkins”, when put in various combinations, can be incredibly funny.
Two years ago, I was anxious about what I was going to encounter in Peace Corps. I was so anxious
of the difficulties that I almost wanted to skip this
whole portion of my life. How silly I was. Life is
not a book with chapters you can skip. It must be
LIVED - the good, the bad and the ugly.
Thanks to Peace Corps and all the 56ers for sticking through it together.
What We Wrote por Jeff Redwine, Daub, and Zach Bearclaw
If you are reading this, you made it the two years,
gracias a Dios! At this point staging probably
seems long ago, but chances are good you may remember those first days. After several hundred
dinámicas and roundtables and skits, we were all
circled up, and Heather articulated well what all the
rest of us were thinking: how nice it was not having
to explain “why Peace Corps?” anymore. From
that point on we were connected to a community of
people that, on some level, understood us. Though
we may not have been fully aware of it, we were all
embarking on a similar journey – emotionally, socially, professionally, etc. And though the particular motives and expectations of each of us differed,
the common journey into the unknown created a
solidarity not easily matched.
In anticipation of the wild ride before us, we said
our hasta luegos from Rio Mar after a weekend of
healthy, low key, and conscience preparation for
our service. Like a shotgun we scattered away to
discover our reality - hiking, boating, and busing
into the random, beautiful, dirty hot corners of
paradise. The days were long as the months flew
by. The bochinche began to trickle in of other 56ers
and the jaw dropping circumstances that burned
down their hut and proved to us all that Panamanian women do indeed dig solar backpacks. As the
shock of training wore off and our sites became
home, friendships began to take new form and new
depth thanks to the frustrations, humility, bodily
functions, and comical situations that periodically
sought an outlet.
group to “desnudarse”
with camera ready;
painted our faces for a
soccer game; charlared
about “dolores” instead
of “dólares”; made
monthly casino trips in
order to quadraplica our
sueldo; witnessed the
reenactment of being
mounted in El Salvador;
attended a Daddy Yankee concert… one
month in advance; were
told to not drink our
own beer in the Radisson, etc, etc, etc.
The truth is, if it hadn’t
been for our compañeros de Cuerpo de
Paz, we may not have
made it … but here we
are. And now, as we
finish up our service,
and come away from
our Peace Corps experience with twice the
questions and half the
answers … there is a
humble confidence that
goes with us. We might
not be any more sure
about the sweeping and
And so the next few years played out. We fed each universal truths around
other with confidence as we searched together for us; but within us, we know we’ve changed for the
deeper, and without us, we know that we’re in the
the missing pieces of the sanity puzzle. We self
company of buena gente – people we’re lucky to
medicated with laughter as the saturated popsicle
sticks flew home to mama and daddy Redwine; we know and even luckier to call friends. This next
exploded chairs; rode floats at carnaval; spoke with leg of the journey may be just as complex, uncomfortable and crassly comical as the last, but we go
Ozzy; asked “sweet ass napkins” to get out of the
forward knowing that anything that grows and
car; dated old sailors and young Panameños;
deepens our character and our friendships like
preached against deforestation to Santeños … in
Peace Corps Panama has, si vale la pena!
Los Santos … at carnival … en la madrugada;
pummeled little children with water balloons in
It has been an honor serving with each and every
Pedasí; cheered on marathon runners and passed
out bebidas; defied armed malientes for the all-too one of you!
Echa pa´ lante
precious I-Pod; fell off of Blake’s house; told a