We’ve had one norte after the next blowing through our port, the skies are opaque gray and all the Yucatecans and casi Yucatecans are bundled up and battened down. We drove into Progreso to run errands while the help leveled rubble and planted and washed our pots and pans. I picked up our laundry and was waiting for Malcolm to circle back around the block. Since it was a cruise ship day the fleet of double decker busses was out in force. Two to be exact, each a quarter filled with agape white faces, chilly in their sleeveless shirts and skanky dresses. From the gaping maw of the trashy panties and cheap plastic sunglasses store swelled the dulcet tones of Blind Melon’s No Rain and visions of happy bees were dancing upon my inward eye. I noticed for the first time the ferreteria Marina Luna and thought about the special relationship between Mary, the moon and the sea. I gave a few pesos to a kid with a coffee can charity. I smiled at everyone and felt generous joy because I was at the center of a strange fantastic scene, the chaos of a common morning on Calle 80.