Entre las Dunas

He wasn't sure how he got there. It had been so long since he had last seen anyone else, let alone a free-standing building. The desert had been tough on him. His skin was dried, cracked, filled with dirt. His eyes burned - mouth dryer than the sand he had been wandering over for the last week. When he stumbled upon the bar, randomly erected amongst the weeds and Joshua trees, he almost didn't believe that it was real - some hallucination born from the sun soaking into his brow.

The coolness of the shade from the vestibule proved its validity - it had been so long since he had encountered shelter from the sun, that the moment his body felt the slight drop in temperature, he knew it was real. And if it were real, that meant there were drinks.

Throwing open the door, he was surprised what lay before him. A beautifully rendered bar. Mahogany counters, brass fixtures, chandeliers, racks of assorted liquors - whiskeys, tequilas, vodka - a cornucopia of alcohol - a drunk's heaven. Everyone inhabiting the space was impeccably groomed. Men's hair slicked back, women's dresses tight around their hips, but flowing on the bottom, bright, radiating energy. They all smiled at him - pure warmth. His body longed for refreshment. Agua. But his mouth was watering for a Tepache and a shot of tequila. Top shelf. He made it this far - he deserved it.

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One drink turned into two. Two made friends with shot three which quickly shook hands with number four. It wasn't long before his edge drifted away, lost amongst the music. The bright lights had come on, the dance floor was busy. A big soiree.  The satin of the senoritas' gowns glowed and the tango swayed. The harmony of bodies seemed like it would go on all night. It was so surreal.

The song eventually faded out, leaving the sound of the needle scratching vinyl. He was content, lost amongst his thoughts, floating along on the alcohol that was pumping through his veins.  It took him a minute to realize the bodies had stopped and everyone was looking at him. It fell silent. Life had ceased. What now?

Knowing he could fix the problem, he walked to the other side of the bar, hand buried deep in his pocket, fishing for something. Bingo. Another quarter and the jukebox cried - he loved the sound of the record's sigh. It'd go all night.

It wasn't until he sat back down that he looked at the wall next to his table and saw a message scribbled amongst the swirls of plaster - almost hidden, like it wanted to be seen, but was too shy or embarrassed to fully reveal itself:

"No necesito la vida rica
Estoy contento contigo"

Sitting up - he looked around. The message spoke to him. He was accustomed to dark smokey bars, a shot of whiskey and a cheap cigar. Not all this.

Where had he ended up?

He quickly stood, poured the remaining agave down his throat, thanked everyone for their hospitality and walked out the door, back into the stifling heat of the desert air.

The fine life was a beautiful thing. The caviar and the diamond rings - a nice place to visit, but somewhere he didn't want to stay.

Lowering his head, he continued off into the dunes, knowing that out there, ahead of him, lost amongst an ocean of sand was where he needed to be.