Help Miranda

She caught my eye and I have the reasons. Lots of reasons. We sat rooftop and watched the sun go down each night while I ran the hotel. She asked if I had ever seen the the “green flash”. I said I had even though maybe I hadn’t. Next thing you know the sun flashes green for seconds. Plural. It sent me somewhere else. Miranda didn’t even see it. I was blown backwards by it.

Her name was Miranda and she was from The Yukon. Maybe originally from BC, but once I heard Yukon Territories, I just ran with that. So she’s talking Yukon and 40 below and her NHL father and Gerry Lopez and Tom Waits and her extensive travels through India. We talked about earthquakes, canines, music, and surf culture. I was careful with my words. More than likely, she was too.

She was thin, blonde, and smart. She wore a trucker hat or a skate hat depending on how you look at her. She liked her wife beater with and without a bra, her Dickie pants rolled up to the lower knee, and she went back and forth between $5 flip flops and Tan Converse Low Tops without socks. She wore Highway Patrol Sunglasses or thereabouts. Her poorwoman’s Victoria Secret panties would show from time to time.

She was my age almost to the day, but didn’t look it. She had been to Puerto Escondido many times back in the day, but it had been awhile since. She wasn’t sure she was going to remain at Casa Agua Azul, and had her reasons why. I was hoping my interim presence would Help Miranda YEAH change her mind. This hotel is fit for a Queen. She seemed stoked that I was the new big man on campus. She, like me, is convinced this town makes magic.