The door slammed shut. He started the truck. Loud music played. Some kind of Mexican oom pah pa band on the radio. A tuba in the background. Trumpets blaring. Men singing in Spanish. Streetlights were still on. The Texas sun was starting to rise.

Working girls were still working the boulevard.  Wrapping it up from the night shift. A few cars pulled over to the side. Men negotiating with boys in tight dresses and women made up in heavy lipstick. Calling out as they walked home to 24-hour hotels, SRO’s, and pimps apartments. Street cleaning crews talking loudly about last night’s game. Rotating brushes hitting pavement. He drove right past.

Downtown Dallas was still dead. A few lights on in towers. Early morning business overseas. A Starbucks opening. Chairs placed on a patio. Soon, lattes and cappuccinos will be poured. Blondes in Pilates pants ordering iced coffees with soy or oatmilk. Almond if they have it. Pancho keeps driving.

In the yard is a little girl with a lunch pail in her hand. Dora the Explorer smiles as her father pulls up in his truck. More oom pah pa. More tuba. Pancho holds his daughter, and they begin to dance.  They laugh and sing.

Go tell your mom I’m here, he said to her. She runs inside, yelling that her daddy is home. Mom and dad embrace. More kids come running down the stairway. Papa was home.