Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Cuba libre

Walking home in Sayulita is like this.  Very solitary.  The smell of dust from the road.  The unmistakable crunch of your feet.  Orange streetlights.  Occasional barking or howling.  Silhouettes of palm trees against the moon.  The electrical buzz of insects.
Or, if you're in the plaza, restless pigeons overhead.
And roosters, depending on the time of night.

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