She dozed on the beach chair, the waves of Isla Mujeres gently competing with the Mexican beat behind her head in the bar. In the wet heat, time didn’t seem to have any edges to it; it flowed around her like water. It was August, and it was so hot, the sun moving up her legs under the umbrella, ripples of sweat running down the inside of her swimsuit.

She opened one eye. The water was dotted with boats and Mexicans up to their necks bathing in the turquoise sea.

~Gargoyle, Issue No. 64