Nica at Night

(written in MyScene Notebook, 2am)
It is 2am in San Juan Del Sur, Nicaragua. The 75cl of Queen Anne scotch is empty, if not dry.
I am reading Delillo´s Underworld. Listening to dogs bark. Deep, not low, bass music with a woman singing. Echo, reverb, wind.
The beat is a stop start throb. The voices (not the singer) are audible/overlapping but incomprehensible as I speak less than pidgeon Spanish.
It was later than this last night when I was jolted awake by the sound of sex in the next room.
The pain raised then was different than this. This is drink and existentialism and the loneliness of 4 days away from the woman I love.
I need to look up Bruegel´s "the Triumph of Death" tomorrow b4 returning to Costa Rica.