If You Like Piña Coladas and Gettin’ Caught in the Rain

In the pouring rain, we guzzled down bacon cheesy fries and mango boba in the front seat.

“The vibe in there was just… off,” le beau said, referring to the café.

I agreed. Not that we would have eaten inside, anyways. It had been 2 years since we had eaten in a restaurant. I could no longer sit down on public seats without vigorously Cloroxing them. Everywhere we went, we carried plastic gloves and extra masks.

On or off vibe, we were eating in the car. And probably for the betterment of society, too, because we had since devolved into eating like gorillas.

We rated the meal. The mango slush was good, but the boba had become gluey. The fries compensated. Cilantro and chicken and bacon. Star of the meal. 10/10.

We should have gotten two, le beau said, sounding sad.

I was silent, still absorbing. As potato coursed through my veins, my brain went sludgy with dopamine.

Hankering for adventure, I suggested a nearby shopping square. We passed by a religious temple on the way, but it was raining too hard for us to step outside. I thought it was beautiful.

As we arrived at the shopping square, the clouds cleared. Palm trees swayed. I skipped over rain puddles. I thought about the The Piña Colada song.

If you like piña coladas
And gettin’ caught in the rain
If you’re not into yoga
If you have half a brain
If you like makin’ love at midnight
In the dunes on the cape

We walked past the steakhouses and H&M’s and scented candle shops. There was a park in the middle of the square, with light-strewn trees and plastic grass and ecstatic toddlers. People posed by limousines that weren’t theirs.

Back in the car, which was not, fortunately, towed, we looked up the apartments. We felt a twinge of envy, having paid the same amount of rent for twice the construction noise back home.

We took the highway back, blasting 80’s music into the sunset.