Back in Guatemala — when Raul Reyes was 13 years old and selling sliced coconuts on the buses going to Quetzaltenango — a mango smoothie was a simple thing. There was a guy standing on the corner, usually, with a card table before him and, underneath it, a crate of mangoes yanked from some nearby tree. He chopped the fruit right before your eyes and mixed in ice, then you paid him a few quetzals and stepped away sucking on a straw, savoring that sweet, cold ache in your throat.
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