PUDDNHEAD

I also had a philosophical realignment regarding Tinder during my time in Panama City.

Alone on the side of a mountain in Panama at 4am felt like coloring outside of the lines.

There is for example a labyrinth made out of hedges. The trail is marked by placards inscribed with masonic symbology...

I of course am more of a scowling wanderer. So instead I hiked around the island and took pictures of frogs.

That night I spent some time by the toilet, trying to and succeeding in not vomiting.

She asked me to be honest and tell her if I fantasized about fucking Colombian women.

Had he really been fabulously rich and done drugs with Joe Montana? And now carried all his possessions in black plastic Hefty bags?

For the next few days I read, wrote, and walked along the beach.

Could be there's a worse cure for a hangover than a 2-hour bumpy as hell boat ride over the open sea. If there is, I'm not familiar with it.

In the evening we bought fancy steaks, had sex in a sauna, and then went out for ice cream.

I actually cried when I read the last line of the novel, which I don't remember ever doing before.

I guess I'm a little more boring and mature now. Just a little.

Fair to say that I had begun to feel like I saw Alice everywhere and it felt creepy.

A few beers and a beautiful woman apparently makes me pretty dumb. And happy.

I apparently hadn't stayed at the lobby bar after the Twins lost.

I spent a few days drinking beers and shooting pool with him at our hostel. Neither of us wore shirts.

To me, in the photographs from 1979, the Sandanista leaders looked...really cool.

It was a refreshing and terrorizing experience.

But to me Nicaragua is just another example of the same goddamn tragedy of every modern leftist revolution.

When Eduardo didn't understand, he repeated TIT-TIES louder and slower, using hand gestures for emphasis.