One Hundred Years of Solitude

by the salt of the open air, his
hair was short and straight
like the mane of a mule, his
jaws were of iron, and he
wore a sad smile. He had a
belt on that was twice as thick
as the cinch of a horse, boots
with leggings and spurs and
iron on the heels, and his
presence gave the quaking
impression of a seismic
tremor. He went through the
parlor and the living room,
carrying some half-worn