pachangueo on iPod, straw hat, bikinis, strapless tops in the suitcase.
Lanzarote is waiting for me almost three hours later.
and a vacation resort.
Five days holiday in paradise.
healthy breakfast: toast with tomato, cheese, turkey, yogurt with blueberries, fruit skewers, red tea.
And not so healthy: freshly made pancakes, omelettes, scrambled eggs, pancakes with syrup, artisan bakery.
sun, sunny, that seeps from every pore of my skin that clears my mind and makes me sweat detoxified by the end of all the remains of the vices of the winter.
and food with their feet in the sand of a private cove in the hotel.
and nap in the shade.
Capote letters in his hands. Then Henry James, a biography of Marie Antoinette (second time) and more James.
unchecked dips, smoothies strawberry sitting on stools submerged in water.
cute guys.
with water and wayfarer.
more sun, and then I hear . British accent that seduces you to the core.
and looked, and oh, is one of those of water and wayfarer.
I close my eyes again. I stretch, and smile at the sun . 's cute, eh?
showers, creams, beds that make me feel clouds.
Nice walk to the port of whitewashed houses, relaxed lifestyle. Boats, restaurants, clothing stores and only one supermarket.
-foreigner area is further north.
And back to the table. Jokes with the chef, the waiters, food, more food. Desserts
film.
A gin and tonic on the terrace, the sound of billiard balls bumping into each other, and stroke cue.
The hours pass like that. Warm, sweet.
The color block populates the closet of room.
Y the spa. Oh, the spa.
Chorros descontracturar every part of my body, watermelon and cantaloupe so cool inside, sauna, Turkish bath purify it.
Walking barefoot on volcanic rocks.
Jacuzzi hot, cold.
bithermal also showers, some Scottish, tickle me.
chocolate massages. With bowls Tibetans. A four hands.
Sun and again. I have heat. I like a smoothy.
I go to the bar of a hotel bar and ask for a cool kiwi.
And, oh, look who it is. The British.
The waiter asks, in cash or charged to your room?
A room. Six twenty-two.
turns out that the numbers are the first thing you learn in English class.
And a note that slides, hours later, under my door.
And while everyone is in the hotel lobby or sleeping rooms and we strolled to the private cove.
Gintonics with sand between your feet. Latin dances, songs, shouted in chorus.
I like you, I say.
Inglés, please.
Does not matter.
facebooks Ni exchange, or phones, or even a simple kiss has been duped.
Just a couple (maybe more) of drinks.
Laughter, secrets between strangers.
A Marie Antoinette to the guillotine, the sun sets, the wind and a threat Canary minibus brings me to the airport.
Flying over the Atlantic, I looked at his hand. Yes, I dark place.
and a silver ring.
not remember buying it.
Wait. Which was what happened that night? Oh, I touched her hand?
Gift Wrap Fuchsia rubs gaps in my memory.
cares, the plane lands.
And in the air have dreams of paradise, massage, heat, shakes and strangely fun night, leaving as a souvenir a darker color on the skin and silver beads with a ring on my finger dancing.
A kiss with a certain nostalgia holiday, Bi.
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