Castro was reelected again. Not something he paid attention to. 

Politics was not what he was about. Nor did it affect his content. He made the same videos he'd always made. The same streams he'd always broadcast.

He'd walk the streets of Santiago. Nearly hit by the autonomous buses regularly. His camera usually behind him as he talked to various vendors and stall owners.

They were good people. Trying to make an honest living. It was no longer as bad as the embargo years.

He could still hear the droning of the machines that roared during daytime construction. Many continued through the night outside of residential neighborhoods.

The vendors loved him. He knew them well from his rounds in their streets. Some he'd made famous on his stream. Some he'd share jokes with. Some would offer him samples. Some he'd get gifts for on special occasions. 

It was a good life. Much better than the one his parents had, though they had the solidarity of fighting a common enemy then. The enemy was now gone, as was the solidarity. But most of their worries were also gone, not just for him, but also the average interviewee in Santiago.

But he didn't always spend his time talking to his people. Sometimes he would just walk amongst the lights and take it all in. Alone with his camera.

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