OCC terminal, seat 14B. Window. A hundred eighty pesos. The bus was half empty. A man across the aisle with a toolbox. We didn't speak. The road ran east along the coast. Palms and low green hills. The ocean appeared and disappeared behind the trees. I closed my eyes for the first hour. When I opened them the land had not changed. The driver smoked. The bus reached Huatulco around eleven-thirty. The terminal was smaller than Puerto Escondido. I walked out and found a taxi. Forty pesos. He dropped me on a corner and I walked two blocks. Green door. A man at the desk. Room 6, second floor. Two hundred twenty pesos. The room had a bed, a chair, a window that opened onto the street. I put my pack on the chair and sat for a minute. I turned the fan on and left. Walked toward the water. The town was quiet. A few shops open, a woman sweeping the pavement. The road sloped down and the bay appeared. Blue and flat. I stood at the edge for a while. A boat was coming in. I watched it dock. Stopped at a taco stand near the market. Pollo, onion, cilantro. Thirty pesos. I ate standing next to a man in a work shirt. He finished and left. I walked back to the guesthouse as the light started to go. The room is cooler now. The window is open. Someone is playing music from a shop across the street. I bought three Micron at just over a thousand each.
— Finn