Plaza Juan Alvarez (The Zócalo) Acapulco 29 December 2005
And I in a desperate peril yet again. We flopped on our chins over a balcony. Companionably. Soothed by the 'froings of the plaza below. Pink and burbling with crumbling concrete moist like sponge cake. Wrapped with those pretty tiles. The people shuttling from one shadow to the other cheered me up. Errands ribboned through the square making a cats cradle of cargo and purpose. Swordfish cerviche and flat Margaritas unfussy in jam-jar glasses. With a good friend doing his very best and I was coming round.
Can we come back this evening for dinner? Oh can we? It was my birthday. I was having a change of heart and starting to look forward to things after all.
There was a terrible shock lurking behind a door. Hoots & toots. Shrieks of Surprise! Surprise! and a lime green cake in the shape of a Rehoboam; a life-sized cut-out of myself dedicated to cardboard plus a hamper of pricey savouries. Whilst everyone congratulated themselves on such an excellent secret and a night of tequila on the neon strip negotiated I was thinking, this unexpected brouhaha is all very splendid, but when are you and me going to the pink plaza to watch people?