Crying In the Car

The buildings in the city were a good sight under the light of the sun as I watched them all while riding in the backseat of Mr. Montenegro’s car. But despite my astonishment, while watching the environment of the city, I was slightly bothered by the series of gazes of Mr. Montenegro from the driver’s seat of the car he was giving me. When I was completely driven by the confusion he was giving me, I finally looked at him.

“Who were they?” he asked as if that was the question he was thinking about since we left the boutique store.

I was confused. He does not give a damn about the people he meets. Weird.

But even though I did not expect him to ask, I still answered him with as half-life as I could. Knowing Mr. Montenegro is that he is never interested in my life, so let's just try.

“Just like what I said, they are my, you know, friends,” I said tentatively and tried to smile truthfully.

He made a long stare before he looked at the road with a brief sigh. “Let me guess. The lad was your