Spanish Understood

Here's a piece I wrote about my experience in the Dominican Republic.

I sat down on a makeshift bench to rest my aching feet.  My black leather shoes were dusty, more so than usual.  For being a tropical island, it sure hadn’t rained in quite awhile and the roads were exceptionally dry.  As I sat there, the sun still baking down on my now tanned face, I overheard a conversation.  I glanced up to see two kids walking down the street, empty plastic soda bottles bouncing behind them on worn strings.  They were talking about finding better bottle tops to fashion into wheels.  I understood every word.  I realized at that moment I had crossed the threshold.  I no longer yearned to understand the Dominican people.  I now did.