Being Nocturnal

I sleep all day waiting for George while the rain falls outside. Yes, rain. Soon, the hillsides above our house will be green with summer grass, and the purple garambullos will ripen on the tips of the cactus arms.

Bar Ocho We arrive before Sam begins his shift. Early. But we are there to eat vegetarian hamburgers on the patio and wait for darkness. Shortly, our evening will begin.

Cafe Santos A jazz band that jingles and rips. The guitarist jams us up to the cieling and back down. Chiapas coffee!

Bar Fly Barro Negro is the jam spankiest Mexican band I've heard in a while. It's danceable funky rock delivered by musicians in Aztec tunics. The skirt over jeans crowd is hip pip popping. Everyone is moving to the music.

Bar Santos Son de Montón. Can't help falling in love with the yip yapping of dueling jaranistas tinkling the strings on tiny guitars. Urban Mexico meets the Yucatan. There is dancing and whistling for more.

Bar Ocho Things end where they begin. Sam behind the bar extends his hospitality. Rain dumps on the cobblestones outside. I am dry and drinking an Indio.

Home before the sun comes up. A good Friday night.