Pinata

In the resort town, it’s late and I leave the nightclub early. In the hotel of stairs and pools, I change the channels on the television. I find our favourite Chinese film, only it has Spanish subtitles. I am at a loss. I can almost imagine what they’re saying because I’ve seen it before. Desire works that way. I am mistaking everything.

Three buildings over, strangers dance on the rooftop, the music arriving to me later so they all appear drunk, staggering in lurch to the music together. Downstairs, behind a door open to the street, an old woman makes piñatas. She is alone with the torrid heavens of pinks, yellows, and reds floating above. One night can stand in for everything.