the dive bar by the sea

Maya Beach, 7 February 2006

a sickly dog scratches itself at the foot of our table. with my Belikin bottle I slowly grind a hole through the soggy brown coaster, while a gecko sprints from behind a dart board to the thatched palm fronds of the ceiling. we are more than halfway through our vacation: just long enough to forget about time; still knowing that it hasn’t forgotten about us.

outside, a dump truck belches diesel when it downshifts for a speed bump. it’s then that you quietly remind me that it’s my turn to pay.