Another Story From Paraguay

This is another story from Paraguay — the street we are currently living on, not the country.

Last night around 7:45 p.m. (19:45), Tyson began acting a little unusual. He couldn’t stay lying down and was sniffing every tabletop surface like he was conducting a forensic investigation. He was clearly out of his mind and refused to settle when told. So we did what every good parent would do: we fed him. He ate in his usual style — two minutes flat, bowl empty and licked clean.

After eating, he continued pacing and sniffing. If I were the parent of a baby, I would have checked a diaper. Since we are parents of two dogs, we took them for a walk. We followed our well-practiced routine: dogs on leashes, poop bags, keys, and passports. Fully prepared.

We took the elevator down to floor 0 and headed toward the front door. Warning: this is where it gets interesting.

Mikey unlocked the glass door and the front gate. He let Tyson go down the stairs first and turned to grab Oaks from me. I stepped outside and turned to lock the door. Mikey was already on the sidewalk with both dogs. I started to turn toward the street — and that’s when it happened.

I saw a car parked across the street. One second it was just sitting there, and the next there was a massive explosion. You could feel the shockwave. Immediately, the car was engulfed in flames. Fire shot out of every window, climbing 8–10 feet into the air. HOLY SHIT.

The next moment, a man stepped away from the car, rubbing his head and covering his ears. He paced up and down the sidewalk. It was obvious the car was his. The doorman came out and called emergency services. Then came a series of loud pops — from experience, those were the tires blowing out due to the heat.

Mikey suggested we get out of there before anything else exploded. Sensible man. We continued on our usual walking route with the dogs. Along the way, we heard the fire trucks arrive. This marked our second encounter with the Montevideo Fire Department in just over a month.

On our way back, as we turned the corner from Nueva York and Paraguay, we saw several people standing outside watching the firefighters work their magic. (No, they were not dancing in the street or ripping off clothes — this was not Magic Mike.) There were easily 30–40 people gathered. We worked our way to the front door. A woman stood on the steps watching the scene — perhaps still waiting for Magic Mike. As Mikey approached the door, she stayed put. She will never know how close she got to Magic Mikey. Once I said “pardon,” she stepped aside and let us pass into the building.

Later, we peeked out the window to see if everything had cleared. Like any good nosy neighbor, I turned off the apartment lights so we wouldn’t be seen. Down on the street were two police officers and two men — one in a pink shirt and one in black. Naturally, my brain immediately wrote a backstory.

In my mind, the man in the pink shirt was telling the police:
“Yes, I was there when the car exploded. Glass flew everywhere. I’m lucky I wasn’t hit. When I saw the owner of the car, I rushed to help him without thinking of my own safety. It was terrifying. I’m lucky to be alive.”

BTW: The man in the pink shirt was not present at the time of the explosion. There was the owner of the car, a man on an electric scutter, Mikey, myself and the two pups.

We get the keys to our new apartment tomorrow!

Thank you for staying with me this far. Be kind to one another — and be kind to yourself.