Carlos is daydreaming again....

The group of Dutch tourists had been swimming all day at Dominical. Tall, blond, and tired, they sauntered in. A family of four corralled themselves at his station. He let them settle in before approaching. “I am Carlos, your server. Welcome to Betos." The other waiters would have continued with some improvised small talk but Carlos preferred brevity. The patriarch of the bunch spoke up but Carlos wasn't there anymore. His mind wandered off once his eyes fell upon her. Again and again the young mans ability to keep his feet in Betos' while his mind roamed the Astral Plane proved astonishing.

He told her his last name was Cimarosa, it was the last name of a famous Italian composer. She smiled and told him her father was an exporter of refined petroleum.

He told her that his father was an American "pensionado" and that his mother was a "tica" who worked in servicios domesticos. She was studying social sciences at Leiden University.

He was going to be a restaurateur.

She was going to work in human resources.

He could move to Holland.

She could move to Costa Rica.

They would have children. Two boys and one girl.

They would have no children.

She kissed his cheek gently as the sun slipped behind the great rock on

Manuel Antonio beach. No doubt there would be three stars in the Orion Belt tonight. He turned to her but she was her father now. He was holding up four fingers.

"Qautro! Quatro Imperial por favor."

Carlos was back at Beto's and relieved that the Dutchman spoke Spanish and drank his brand of beer.

Note: (When Carlos was born his mother was twenty-three and his father was sixty-five. His uncle Manny told him he looked like an old man when he was born. It freaked out the whole family.)