Come to the Caribbean, they say again, and you begin to run out of excuses. September is here, the real world is here but you're not sure your place in it, there's a rumor you can cherry pick the rules to which you want to adhere, there's a rumor life is beautiful and just what you make it and some days you're ready to believe the hype. We spent the morning in the sunny corner of a restaurant lauded in every travel guide book; the tourists all ordered pancakes and you didn't have the heart to judge them. The world returns to normal, and if nothing else the setup is comfortable, predictable. You didn't think predictable was for you, but then, you've been wrong about so many things this year that maybe it's out of your hands. Let us be lovers, we'll marry our fortunes together, and the joke is the fortunes were inside ourselves the whole time. You order eggs, try to hold the lightness in your breath as long as it lets you.
November is such a sad month, what harm can it do not to look it in the eyes when it comes?
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