The day began with an iguana falling out of a tree. That’s how they get around. They simply permit themselves to sag from a high perch. The bright green rubbery beast landed heavily on the hammock, gripping at the rope contraption with his too long clattering claws. He saw me, a beat behind my following his antics. He froze and anticipated his certain doom. Technically he was dead. He was mine. Except I had no intentions whatsoever on murder. I merely observed. He took his time before eventually hauling himself over one side. He lunged onto a leaf the size of a suitcase and from there he slithered into the thick shrubbery that marks the edge of the garden. I got the feeling the iguana had taken this hammock route before and I determined to cast an eye about next time I settled in for a kip.

To offset total sloth I went for a bike ride. With the sun in my eyes at an intersection I slowly put together the pixels of the busy image ahead. A rumbling gathering of mopeds, each ridden by someone bronzed, toned, in little more than shorts and sunglasses. I stepped down from my bicycle, and leaned against it. I had reggae on the headphones and it was wonderful to watch this spontaneous parade, ebullient as butterflies. And as they passed they tipped their heads, a nod, each with a smile, and to each I nodded in return. By the time the last moped chuffed away I was outright grinning.

Later, near the beach, lights blazed. By the water’s edge, in between some palms, a man was detonating fireworks. I perched on a lava boulder, and inhaled warm briny air entwined with sulphur. Silver flares emitted slivers in a bristly shower, first shooting straight up, noisy as a train’s whistle, level with the top curving fronds of the trees and there the rockets exploded with their final burst, silvery fire shaking free in all directions.

Circling homeward I gazed upon a couple of lovers strolling arm-in-arm. She was cherubic and alluring with a baby-girl pouting mouth and long russet curls. In blue jeans shorts and cowboy boots she was adorable. Her fellow was loping alongside her and they were deep in conversation, with their heads lowered, in their own world, as they made their way beneath the shade of trees. Shaggy hair obscured his face but I thought I recognized him. I think he’s a Serb, he pedals a pedicab. I realized I’ve never seen him ambulatory. His walk is particular, somehow fluid, rolling smooth as hydraulics. They turned at the corner, dragging a shadow. Suddenly, like a shotgun blast I recalled what the bartender told me about the werewolves, and how at most you could expect to see a tail vanishing around a corner. Should I warn the lass? More likely she was long ago bitten and is beyond salvation. Lucky lady.

Happy New Year!