When she first met Pato he was drunk.
She had just gotten out of the ocean and was about to take her swim shirt off when she noticed him looking at her. He stared at the wet shirt clinging to her chest and waved her over to sit down next to him on the sand.
His eyes were glazed over and when he spoke he spit through broken teeth.
He told her that he was the best surfer in Playa Carrillo.
“Oh really? Go in and show me,” she said.
“Nah, I already surfed today,” he said.
They both looked out at the horizon. The water heaved and sighed.
“I have the best milk”, he said, slowly spilling handfuls of sand onto her sunburnt legs.
“I have a cow with one big tit who has the best milk. Do you want to taste my milk?”
She looked into his cloudy eyes, “I’m lactose-intolerant.”
“I can take you to that island,” he said, pointing to the desolate rock across the bay.
“I will show you the iguanas, and I will show you how to fuck.”
They both laughed. Her at his audacity, him at his honesty.
In a tourist town, the locals are accustomed to making new friends and lovers. Some come to visit for a few weeks, others just stay a few days. It doesn’t matter. Love happens quickly, leaving in the morning with the tide.
But tonight she knows he loves her, because he told her so.
“I love you,” he said pulling down her shorts.
“You’re my best girl.”
A hot pink taxi speeds past a lime green house.
At a traffic light, a young woman wearing pink lipstick leans out the passenger side window of a red VW bug.
Three teenage girls wearing too much makeup take selfies in front of a Mayan ruin.
In the 5 o’clock golden hour, blue paint peels off the side of a colonial style building.
On a smoggy street corner, a man with a taut round belly licks a pastel pink ice cream cone.
A cross eyed man with a fake gold tooth smiles.
Roommate portraits taken over the course of a year living at Taaffe place, Brooklyn.