Dos papas dobles por favor” her clean crisp voice rings out over the clamor of clinking bottles,  cuts through the stench of freshly caught and not so freshly caught fish. Bouncing around  the room mixing with mens sweat, chanting, screeching of wood on wood with the floors coated in sawdust, and unoiled protests of an unhinged door. I turn my head, and wipe the beads of sweat from my upper lip with the back of my hand not holding the bottle of Rheingold and am not surprised at all to be met with an open slightly tanned face and eyes shining like the scales on the  underbelly of fish caught in a pocket of sunlight. They address me with a nonchalance of a woman who's had far too many lovers and not enough loves. She turns away from me leaning one evocatively curved hip against the water stained wooden counter of the bar littered with empty glasses and broken beer bottles , with the elegance of a true southern belle the irony is not lost on me. She moves her hands from the bar into her bag, and rummages around in exaggerated fashion.
“s***”
“ no actually that smell is just Pochi the bartender, he an excessive sweater and I surmise thats why his wife up and left him”
she cuts me off “ oh, so here I find myself in the company of a true comedian in this backwards little country”
“writer actually”
“ah, of course, well can I bum a cig from sir Shakespeare”
“Shakespeare, hardly” I say running my finger along the inside the breast pocket of my gutted up cotton shirt, and pull out a cigarette and pinch it lightly between my ocean coated thumb and pointer and put it in the empty chasm separating me from her. The mummurs of conversation that were dancing around the poorly lit bar moments ago have turned into a cacophonous symphony of spanish and english yelling, shouting singing in glee and sorrows of the luck of the sea. I can’t make out what she say but she reaches out a thin wrist, encircled by a silver Chanel watch. Her two middle finger spread wide  before accepting the cigarette between them with a snap , and pulling it towards her almost imperceptibly parted lips painted a pale pink with I’m sure some expensive lipstick .
“I’m trying to quit” she says  matter of factly  while pulling  the cig between her lips and closes her eyes, when she opens them again they are addressing me expectantly. She takes a step towards me, and leans her body so that her face is inches from mine disrupting the peace that was the distance between us.
“Are you going to light me up or what?” she says as the cigarette dangles from the corner of her mouth.
I snatch a pack of matches  of the table, its wilted and soggy and yellowed  with alcohol, and it takes me a few times to light the match and I can feel her impatience like an oppressive sun on a particularly hot day in July, which by coincidence it is. I put the flame to the tip of her cigarette and burn it orange, until there is a cloud of smoke between us.
“Dos Papas Dobles para la signora rubia” his voice garbled like marbles in a sweaty palm  before a throw.
“Gracias Senñor” Her eyes dart from mine, little mice in the presence of the cat, and mine never pull away.
“For your fianceé?” I say jutting my neck towards the sugary sweet drink.
“Hmm?” she says exhaling another puff of smoke in my face.
“The drink, is it for Mr. Pout and khakis over there, your fianceé” I say pointing my finger lazily to the back table.
“Oh him? No he’s my brother, he can be my fianceé if you prefer” a drag just longer enough to make my breath hitch.
“I do not”
“Oh...Drink?” the beads of condensation have began to form a small moat around the glasses as she shift her cigarette to sit between her pinky and ring finger, the small tendrils of smoke drifting, like the interest of a young child. When she picks up the glass a bead drips along to trace the vein in her wrist before plopping decidedly to the floor.
“I would be a fool not to feed on the nectar of a God”
“Cheers” she extends her her, and I move to reach her’s with enthusiasm. 
We both gulp it down, racing each other but neither of us aware of the competition we’ve entered. 
“ It’s been a pleasure..?” the question like boxes stacked to high, and at the wrong angles.
“Daniel”
“Mary”
“Well, I hope to see you around.”
“Perhaps” she says with a smile, placing her empty glass in my upturned hand before sauntering out of the bar as if, the whole world began and ended on the balls of her feet.