The month has closed, the numbers add up and pixel Manuel Indarte has booked the best table at a grill house in the hills. The chef has promised a chuletón cooked slowly over oak embers, but it comes off the grill at two o'clock sharp, and nobody waits for latecomers. Time to board the Chuleton Express and take the winding hill roads at full speed.
The road out of the city is busier than any spreadsheet. Tractors crawl along the country lanes, delivery vans stop without warning, motorbikes weave between the lanes and coaches full of tourists take up the whole road. Sacks of charcoal for the grill have fallen off a truck along the way. Pick them up and reach the table before the steak is served.
