Can Rory hit two-hundred feet on one breath?
Shaky moment last night. Sleeping at the in-laws. Fancy pants in Manhattan Beach. Started running a high fever around bed time. Total delirium all night long. Finally broke before dawn. Shit came out of nowhere. No lasting ill effects.
But it was dicey there for a moment. Airlines don’t smile on sick people leaving a third world country. Kept telling the wife, “Don’t say anything about me being sick. I don’t want to get stuck in LA.”
She’s no fool. Didn’t need to be told twice. Especially didn’t need me to ramble on incoherently about it.
We had a very good time. Living in the lap of luxury. Granada hotel houseboys bringing the mojitos. Wake up to massages on our private veranda. Breakfast brought up soon after. Spinach quiche and excellent french press Nica brew.
Ruined an Australian group’s dinner one night. Paid a street musician to play Guantanmera and La Bamba for them. On repeat.
One guy got so upset!
“Please stop! We’re not paying you!”
“It is okay, you no need pay. Would you like a different cancion?”
Musician guy totally got the joke. Was playing well at first. Worse and worse as he went on. Basically banging on his guitar and shouting. Big shit-eating grin on his face. Comedy all around.
Drunk wife had to spoil the joke. Asked if they enjoyed our gift. But they were good sports. Laughed it off. We bought them a round. Made some new friends.
Shit got weird when we unlocked our front door. Someone’s been in my home. Muddy boot prints through every room. I don’t own a pair of boots. No way they could’ve been mine.
They dug through my closet. Nothing in there but clothes.
Laptop still sitting on my coffee table. No surfboards missing. Spearguns where I left them. Wife’s jewelry box in plain view, but everything still there.
Place was closed up tight. Put new locks on a few months back. No one else has a key.
Very unsettling. Might be time to buy a gun.