Mongo Notes

Sunset arrival - no hope for a room, except the one above that crappy inland bar we were so lucky to find. 4 am rooster roars and choruses of wailing hounds, protecting master from dark schemes. You and I huddled close with eyes barely shuttered by restless lids, hoping for another sunrise, with bellies still percolating irish coffee and starlight enchiladas. And it does so we swim among the lazy morning hammock bears and snarling beach dogs trading time for scraps. Chalets peaking through split palms. Tent cities waxing and waning with the surf report – wave dogs cued for release, salty cracker gulps and, oh, one more ride. Fisherman leashed to the sea by waking hunger. And we’re hungry too.