A/N: Let's resume:

Cassandra was quite surprised to find the airport very clean. A woman with full red lips and a body that was on the borderline between curvy and chubby stamped her passport. Cassandra with her clean white hands that had never seen a hard day's work handed the little blue passport to the clean brown hands that had seen many wild Saturday nights and there, the passport was stamped. The Guatemalan woman, whose face looked different than Cassandra's, looked at the gringa for a moment, and then, disinterested, shifted her gaze to Anastasio. Cassandra took her passport with the careful and careless sophistication of one born into wealth and took a few steps ahead and waited for Anastasio.

The two of them exited the airport, and Cassandra looked on at all of the people waiting around outside. The sounds of struggling 4-cylinder, standard transmission automobiles were audible above the hum of the brown, black-haired Guatemalans as they chatted with each other. Without realizing it, Cassandra found her hands tightening their grip on her suitcase. Anastasio whispered to her to just be careful, that was all.

Cassandra had to admit to herself that it was strange to hear so many people speaking a language she could not understand. She did not want to allow herself to be intimidated by this trip, but she couldn't help but feel something working at her confidence, something chipping at her armor. All these strange people, all these little shit cars, all of these strange words being spoken by these little Mayan-looking people. Even Anastasio she began to question. He walked up to a man dressed in a dirty blue uniform, Anastasio dressed in his sharp patent leather shoes and expensive casual shirt and pants. They began talking in Spanish, which was a language spoken rapidly and was totally unknown to Cassandra. She had never taken the time to even familiarize herself with any of its words, save for sí and hola. She found herself wondering if Anastasio was bartering her away to this dirty little brown-skinned man.

"I have this tasty white girl here. She's a fresh little bitch from the United States," Anastasio was saying.

"How much?" the keen little dirtball inquired.

"What have you got?"

"Depends. Is she a virgin?"

Anastasio was smirking. "I can find out."

Stop that, Cassandra told herself. That's not what they're saying. As she did her best to convince herself, the two of them finished talking, and Anastasio came over and nodded at her. She must have been looking at him strangely, for his brow furrowed, and he asked what the problem was.

She changed the expression on her face, and then said nothing.

"This man will help us put our bags in the cab," Anastasio said.

She nodded affirmatively.

"I have a cab coming. It's supposed to be here now," he shrugged his shoulders, "however, this is Guatemala after all."

The little greasy overall guy had gone off, a cigarette in his dirty lips, and he was now talking to a cluster of equally unkempt men wearing the same overalls in need of a washing. Periodically, the men would steal glances as Cassandra, and she pulled her case closer to her. She felt hate towards these strange people. She didn't want to outright condemn the country within her first ten minutes in it, but she was feeling her anger rising, drowning out the constant depression and sadness she always felt.

"You don't talk much, do you?" Anastasio asked. "I've never heard your voice."

She looked at him.

He smiled. "Would you say something?"

Cassandra didn't, but there was a small sparkle of humor in her eyes, and that was enough for Anastasio at the moment. He had sensed that she was forming an unfavorable opinion of Guatemala already, and she had not even left the airport. She had not even seen such impoverished areas as Zone 19 or the campo yet, and she was already looking at all of the Guatemaltecos around with eyes of suspicion and dislike.

The taxi had finally pulled up to the curb, and Anastasio gestured at the uniformed men, and they came over to take their bags. Anastasio looked at Cassandra, anticipating that she would not give her bag over to the greasy men who looked different from her, but she did. The man took it with grubby, stained fingernails, and she did not even look up at his face, which was intently focused on hers. If she had looked up, she may have seen the awe and love in his brown eyes, and she may have had her freshly vanquished mistrust return to her pupils, but she kept her blonde head down. Anastasio opened the cab door for her, and she stepped in, the men watching her body, watching her graceful movements, wanting to love her and keep all perverse thoughts from their minds. Then, Anastasio was upon them, handing them Guatemalan Quetzal notes that he had exchanged for in the airport, and he was in the cab too, the door closed, and the fair blanca was now safe and out of sight. The cab left the curb, it painted blue with the white letters "Zona Diez: Zona Viva" on the side. One man watched them go, and the others came around him.

"Zone Ten," the man said.

"Of course," another said. "Look at them. They have money."

"What must it be like, to have money?"

"Don't start wondering now. You'll drive yourself crazy."

"One would need money to marry her," he said, his voice something of sadness and lament. The other men could not reproach him, for they all felt the same, and they were all standing there sad for the first time, and the other employees around the airport were surprised to see them this way; these the same men who strolled around with youthful pride in front of all of the other women standing around the airport waiting to be picked up.

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A/N: I will be coming out with a third installment soon. I don't know how many there will be in total, but I have a definite ending in mind. Getting my experiences in Guatemala down on paper is hard, I'm finding, since I'm very depressed because of the winter and it is tough to write. Hopefully, I'll give you guys somewhat of an idea, and I apologize if I am lacking in any areas. Please R and R, and I'll appreciate everything.