Sunday morning churchbells

drinking coffee in my bed before climbing the stairs to the rooftop for breakfast. Each day I swim in the little pool while pigeons whirl and Jorge wonders if there’s something he can bring me. Water with a slice of lime? A towel? Last night we sat opposite the corner John photographed in the courtyard of a restaurant called Catedral and I had the best meal of my life, in excellent company, while overhead a silver moon hung like a prop from a perfect play about evenings in Oaxaca and a man played sweet guitar music.