Albuquerque

I don't know what to expect. We drive down a skinny road to your friend's house, the Rio Grande to the left, little Adobe houses to the right. It is so hot, still, sweat dripping down the center line of my back, no matter how little clothing I wear. The sky is beginning to darken as we pull up to the house, high puffy clouds making their way across the purpling sky, a high breeze blowing, and ruffling all the leaves.

We walk in and the house is to die for - gentle lighting, well worn wood floors, a trendy kitchen, even a weight room. So much space, for two people. They each have their own room - hers a little office filled with books and plants and photos, his filled with lots of bro gear - athletic equipment, musical instruments. I feel jealous.

We hang out in the kitchen, eating chips and salsa, catching up. The woman is super cool, and beautiful, and I wonder what she sees in him as he makes dumb jokes and snide comments about people who have not yet arrived. We crack open beers and there are shots of tequila all around. The night begins.

The backyard is the size of six of my San Francisco apartments. He fantasizes out loud about fitting in a baseball diamond; I dream of swimming pools, and vegetable gardens, and animals - maybe a little petting zoo.

More people arrive. More tequila is drunk. I feel so relaxed. Your friends are kind an welcoming, and we talk about so many things; how 200k can buy you two acres, how the local government is actually subsidizing you to become a beekeeper, tidbits about local history, maybe a little gossip about the man who showed up in the bandanna and keeps making fun of everyone for their inferior taste in music.

Then the breeze picks up and the leaves rustle louder than I've ever heard. I feel the soft breeze on my arms, a whisper at the back of my neck. The air shifts and the smell is earth electrified. It's going to rain.