It’s Laundry day.
Mind you, when the temp is 31C with a 10 – 15 mph breeze, you can wash one minute and dry the next. It’s an outdoor launderer’s dream.
The one constant here – as it is 90% of North America – is noise: loud, mind-numbing, gratuitous noise.
There is some nearby idiot with a ‘boom box’ that sounds like the guns of Navarone, and in about a mile of beach there are no screaming kids except outside my seat at the restaurant.
This morning, one of the feral dogs (of which there are many) came into the restaurant looking for something to eat, and the waitress started to put the run on him until I told her that I’d rather have dogs than kids, and bought him a takeout order of bacon and eggs.
Latins are boisterous, too. Even if they are shoulder to shoulder, they can’t seem to carry on a conversation at less than a shout.
They also have a love for reggae/rap crap, which has all the subtly of a sledge hammer with words, so I spend a good deal of my time grinding my teeth.