Wake at 3 and roll around with jet lag and unspeakable regrets until 5. Put on sweater and warm socks, a beach towel like a scarf jaunty, a cup of cold coffee from yesterday's breakfast and a bread roll only slightly stale from last night's dinner. Perched on the retaining wall feet dangling into space but well above the waterline, the tide going out anyway so that when the sun rises the broken concrete and rebar from the collapsed hotel wiill be exposed, but now it is dark and peaceful by starlight. The sky turns bluer, then pink, nicotine orange and there is a woman on the beach shivering slightly in a bikini, doing sun salutes in the direction of the upcoming sun, which is both completely appropriate and annoyingly pretentious. You have a three-day guacamole belly already, sitting sweetly in your lap. The cloudline makes an extra horizon for the sun to get past and people are emerging onto balconies in various states of undress, eyes shielded, coffee cups steaming. The air is already warmer. The birds fly across the water basically illustrating the word majestic. Finally it is a ball of fire you can't look at anymore and it's time to go inside.