I strolled along, casually holding my sandals at my side, ignoring the searing temperature of the sand. My boyish hips swayed a little unnaturally; all part of the Mexico-me.
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I spent the rest of the week continuing to observe and pass judgment. It was a few days before the drinkers showed up; a nice group of gen-something-or-others that had beer hidden behind a tree and every lap, pulled over for a swig.
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I was giddy, a bit buzzed and chuckled out loud at the free pencil they gave us “Write drunk. Edit sober”. Ok.
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