Shall we dance

---

Slept nearly the whole way on the bus, half waking when we stopped to peer out the window at bizarre sequence of half real places, truck stops and roadsides in the middle of nowhere. Vanessa was not so lucky, and was forced to live all of these places in full wakefulness. At one she came back on the bus and with no warning offered me a sip from her styrofoam cup. It contained some foul indescribable milky and lumpy gruel, which she seemed quite pleased with. In my paranoid stupor I wondered who had replaced my girlfriend with this strange potion pushing pixie.
Daylight and Puerto Escondido arrives to find me somewhat returned to normal, less distraught over the glasses (which, I mused, were the only thing I have had stolen in 15 years of traveling). We wander off into the city to search out Steph, Derek, Marnie, and the rest of the Blanshay clan.
Later that night, having found our friends, we end up at a bizarre blues festival, surrounded by aging gringos who appear to have been living some part of the year in Puerto for about twenty or thirty years. With the complete disregard for their own dignity characteristic of the overly drunk surrounded by friends, these boomers who appear never to have left the summer of love take to the dance floor in droves. What´s worse, they seem to be having nearly as much fun dancing as we are watching them.
After about an hour of watching the revels with horrified fascination, a young Mexican lad comes and asks Vanessa to dance. She demures, but is instantly prodded by the rest of the table. She looks to me, but as I always do I simply shrug to indicate that she should do whatever she wants. The kicker, however, comes after the song is over and the young mexican escorts her back to the table, where he stops, fixes his eyes on mine, and thanks me.

---

Photos

Dance with a stranger
Hey... Hey! Watch the hands!