In this episode of, "If I were an heiress..." Christy finds herself on a stretch of pristine white beach at sunset -- a margarita in one hand and a camera in the other. There's some old pyramid or something she wants to see, but first there is this matter of framing the sun just right as it is absorbed by the horizon. Orange, retinal burning light drenches everything in gold, a cool breeze, a humid night, probably a jungle in the background with lots of sturdy vines and green tangled undergrowth, maybe some tiki torches, a few winged insects flitting about. The hoots and squeaks of monkeys in the encroaching dark.
"Refill!" she shouts. And the glass fills itself.
Sweet and sour and salt, a tongue-puckering good drink.
And if she could have a really good tamale in this fantasy? She wouldn't mind that either.
1 comment:
May I come? I'll be quiet. That is, as long as the winged insects aren't disease-filled. Margarita on the rocks, no salt.
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