There’s a pretty good north-west wind blowing through town right now, dragging some cool air down with it (I love that I live in a place where 79 degrees can be considered cool) and emptying the beaches of all but people with kids who just want to get outside and don’t give a crap what the weather is doing.
I feel sorry for the vendors on days like this. They trudge down the beach with virtually no hope of a sale. This isn’t just a slow day at the office that they get paid for either way, this is them working all day for quite possibly nothing at all. One old man strolled by us carrying some sort of wind chimes or something, he held them up to us but they were nothing that we could possibly have a use for. He lowered his head and carried on. His feet were flat, worn, and cracked on top of a pair of sandals that looked to have been repaired for years. I called out to him, but he didn’t hear me—nearly deaf. I caught up to him, and slipped some money into his hand. He looked down at his hand, then up at me and all I could think to say was, “Mucho trabajo.” Much work. He smiled, nodded, and replied quietly, “Si.”