Soft strains of Mexican music wafted through the hot air from the big Escalade waiting at a red light. I crossed the street, but didn't notice the cracked, broken tar, the huge factory I was walking towards or the sounds of traffice from the I-95 overpass above. I was back at our little restaurant in Tulum, celebrating M.'s 30th birthday. My dark eyed, dark haired German. I still get butterflies...

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