I usually have vivid dreams, but there are two or three dreams that have stuck with me, dreams that I can remember as clearly as if I just woke up. These are memories where sound, smell and movement collide with emotional sensations imprinted deep within my psyche. Recently, I had one of these dreams. I slept fitfully most of the night, tossing and turning in the 98 degree humidity of our hostel, which our guidebook described as “damp.” The whirring of the fan was like a helicopter hovering over our rock hard pillows, causing my hair to blow into my face, a feeling I dislike all too much. In the early morning, long after even the most zealous of partying backpackers had downed their last cervezas and shouted one more unlikely promise of meeting again someplace,
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