Beans for Breakfast

A man and a woman walk up to a small group of women standing on the corner outside R Place. The new girl wears a sarong, bikini top, and a straw hat decorated with fruit and leaves. The other girls are more conservatively dressed, though some are accessorized with frills that are consistent with the theme of their friend’s elaborate costume. The guy who just joined – white tanktop and jeans – is inflating a beach ball. One girl bounces back and forth, from one foot to the other, ina dance of impatience.

Now the corner is mobbed bya dozen men. With the exception of the bagpiper, they’re all wearing some combination of white polo shirt and khaki shorts or Hawaiian shirt and jeans. They overshoot the club’s entrance, mingle briefly with the others, and then find the door.

The guy gives the now inflated beach ball to one of the girls and crosses the street toward Hot Mama’s Pizza, where I’m finishing a slice. At some point, the number of girls in the group is reduced to two — the girl with the hat (now holding the beach ball) and another (who is blowing up another beach ball). I finish my pizza and walk out onto the sidewalk (forgetting my backpack). The girl in the hat is calling out to someone that I don’t see, “I didn’t have my ID.”