Transporte De Personal Pemex -
Fin.
He glanced at Marta. She nodded. He glanced at Chuy. The pipefitter cracked his knuckles. “We’re with you, viejo.”
“Hold on,” Don Javier announced over the PA. “We’re going off-script.” transporte de personal pemex
Don Javier smiled, revealing a gold tooth. “Mijo, I have been driving this route for eighteen years. I have never lost a single worker. Not one. That is my Pemex. Not the directors. The drivers.”
Luis, the apprentice, paused at the door. “Don Javi… that was scary.” He glanced at Chuy
He watched them file out, joining the river of fluorescent vests heading toward the helipad and the crew boats. He was already invisible to them, just the bus driver. But as they walked toward the towering distillation columns and the endless hiss of high-pressure steam, each one of them looked back for just a second and gave a small wave.
“Buenos días, Don Javi,” said Marta, a corrosion technician. She was the first on board, always sitting in the third row, by the emergency window. “Same seat, same life.” “We’re going off-script
The old brecha . Don Javier’s jaw tightened. That road was barely wide enough for the bus. One wrong move and they’d tip into an irrigation ditch. But turning back meant the crew missing the morning safety briefing, which meant the offshore platform losing four hours of production.














