La Playita
By Gavin Atlas
The restaurant was nearly empty. March is one of the hottest months in Costa Rica, so maybe it was low season. This spring break was my last chance to travel before the real world started, so I was here despite the heat.
“You’re traveling alone?” asked the waiter.
“‘Fraid so,” I said, looking up from my book. The tall waiter seemed too close to blond to be fully Costa Rican. He was thin and his angular features were golden in the candlelight.
“You’re American,” he said. “I know from your accent. But I’m surprised you are by yourself. Americans don’t like to travel alone.”
“We don’t?”
“No, especially not as young as you.” The waiter had a beautiful smile.
I grinned. “My friend who was supposed to travel with me cancelled.”
“It’s too dark to read,” he said,
