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Chapter 3
When we awoke, it was after eight. “I’m starving,” he said as he sat up. After he took a quick shower, we walked to La Cantina. Dinner was wicked—fat burritos smothered in red sauce, too many tortilla chips, and a pitcher of margaritas. We were well into the meal before we said a word. “Pig city,” I noted. Ray laughed. “Oink,” he said before digging back into his burrito. We debated a second pitcher of margaritas, finally deciding to go for it since we weren’t driving. “This was such a good idea,” I told Ray. “The second pitcher?” he asked, raising his glass. “The vacation. Just a train ride from the city, we find paradise.” “And it wouldn’t have anything to do with a hotel and room service?” “No. You can find those in San Francisco. It’s better here, removed from the clamor, so
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