Pablo said, "Rachel, the light turns on by itself after you close the door," and I didn't realize that, yes, her Spanish was directed at me. No one really dances wherever I end up here, but girls are always riding past me on bicycles and teams of boys row past the bars next to the river before disappearing. I talk about the greenness of the mountains. Somehow I have become a self authority on US politics and get angry when Pablo tells me, "That's because you were educated to think that way." I'm still angry about that. I remember the sun at noon, an off-centered line of hair below his chin and the way he turned his head in any direction, fiercely; someone looking at me from outside while in the front seat, stairs to no where, rocks by the ocean, trash with little flowers.