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February 6, 2008
On the terrace of a restaurant in La Antigua, Guatemala, listening to the cathedral bells signalling evening Mass, sipping soda while the waiter brings us fresh tortillas.

Smiling across the table at Two Beeps, our boots caked in volcano dust, entwined beneath the table. Whispering to him in Spanish (which he can't understand) all the naughty things I'm going to do to him once we get back to our room at the posada.

A cool breeze wafting down from Volcan Agua, a faint glow at the top of Volcan Fuego, and salsa music bouncing down the cobblestones of Calle Arco.