At the window of her hotel room overlooking Ocean Drive and the waning afternoon, she daydreamed. At street level in front of the hotel a band plucked out a flamenco. Neighboring hotels competed with music of their own, so that all the sounds merged and rose to the sixth floor, in a hypnotizing stew. But it was the wind that caught her attention, bashing at the blinds, sounding like a gigantic jaw crunching on bones.
Juan was across the street, sitting on a low wall. He was waiting. He would know her when he saw her. Meanwhile she was sliding the room key into her pants pocket, and stopping in front of the hall mirror where she examined herself. “See you later,” she murmured, and walked out.
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