Fears no man. Is lonely and lost. Admires the sharp beaked, mischievous creatures that fly through the lobby.

5…4…3…2…1…I hope you have someone to kiss.

The band is playing and we are drinking gin and tonics. My parents are dancing. A man drops his crutches. It’s some kind of paradise.

A conversation with my twenty year old self: “Dude, your priorities are all wrong. Don’t be so serious, chase more tail.” “Are you drunk?” ” Yes, very.” “What’s the future like?” “A lot like the past, but we have robots and flying cars.” “Who’s going to win the Superbowl?” “The what? We don’t do that anymore.” “You disappoint me.” “The feeling is mutual.”

The days here are full of wonder and the nights are full of terror. Too much tequila and now I’m waiting for transcendence during the trainwreck of karaoke hour.

You didn’t think it would be this easy to feel this bad at a four star resort in the Carribean. But it is. Every happy couple, every laughing family, every overweight tourist by the pool is a reminder of how horribly wrong things have gone. You’re drunk all the time and have started pretending you don’t speak english so you can argue with the hustlers on the beach about the price of palm leaf hats in a mixture of terrible spanish and rude hand gestures. Still, all is not lost, you are getting a lot of reading done.

We touch down and the tropical depression hits almost immediately. The heat hits me as soon as I step off the plane, and the smell, that wonderful smell of heat and ocean makes me think for a moment that everything is going to be okay. But then the crowded terminal and waiting for the luggage, my lousy Spanish. Everyone here is young, old, or has children and I don’t know how I wound up here.