In Yucatán, San Valentin by Salvatore Difalco
We had spent too much time in the sun the previous day, despite my warnings. An excess of Del Maguey Chichicapa contributed both to a profound loss of consciousness that lasted all night and to the predictable morning aftermath, fully blown as the scorpion of dawn raised its tail. My ginger amigo Rasmussen, the only human I know to have survived a bungled bungee jump, deplored my cautionary instincts—pooh-poohing my calls for more powerful sunscreen or a prudent retreat to shade—and thus must have found himself in a personal inferno at least as execrable and fervid as mine. I felt like a double-decker trolley bus had run me over and a perverse opportunist had then doused my flattened body with diesel fuel, setting me alight.
Afraid to move, I fixed my eyes on my feet, jutting from the sheets like parboiled lobsters…
View original post 1,353 more words