Camden was pink from overexposure by early evening and I had learned to speak English already. We each had migranes as a result of everyafternoon drinking, though we were both somewhat convinced we were having a good time. I ordered a Flaming Volcano from the sweaty bartender in perfectly broken English. I blew out the flame and took out the tiny umbrellas. Camden called his mother for more money. She was alone in a condo in Chicago, waiting for his life to begin. We were sitting next to one another at a bar in Costa Rica, letting the sun cancer us.
he wanted me to wear the empty coconut half
I made him with my pseudoEnglish, take every thing off including his skin.
and I though I caught him