Hauck In the Afternoon
Torro. Spanish for "The Bull with an extra r, possibly due to a typo or maybe a trademark issue."
The man stood in the corrida. The harsh sound of the brass curved as an echo curves across a man's unshaved face. The smell of the bulls wafted through the doors where the man and his hot dog waited. Waited and ate the hot dog and looked down at his boy. From him the boy would learn that a man ate hot dogs instead of fruit. It made a man strong. Strong like El Torro. Strong like the supports of the stroller that the man used to push around the boy.
The boy was not yet a man. That was why the man had come here. To the corrida. To the bulls. To buy a small Spanish dictionary in the shop that he could use to learn what corrida meant. The man always assumed it meant "hot dog place" but then he was reading some Hemingway and was like whoa why aren't there any hot dogs mentioned in this and so he took his stroller and his boy and went manly-ly into the unknown to be a man and learn this corrida's secrets.
And the boy was comfortable and safe in the spring suspension of the aluminum frame as the man slowly figured out that he wasn't actually at a flea market but instead 1939 Spain. My wife will be furious thought the man. The boy yawned within his padded 5-point harness system. The sun began to set.