He called her "mi amor," she called him "el Creepo Grande." She stormed into his life life like an el niño of flavored coffee and faux-French pastry. He leaned his way into hers like a teetering scarecrow soaked in rum. His eyes said "Usted ha robado mi corazón," the restraining order said "a distance of 500 feet at all times." At sunrise, when a warm wind blows in from the south he remembers the last words he heard from her lips, "Non sígame o mi hermano Ramon le batirá a la muerte." Isn't it pretty to think so.
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