We woke up on Margaret Street under palm trees on a block that used to feature a large Banyan tree. Those majestic tendrils have since been deleted. Tall palms still shade the non-residential side, and various species of roots pour slowly like molten glass over the curb on the opposite side. To get our home inside the lines was a tight shave. But I'm that good. Mirrors and windows were retracted on the passenger side, and we exited through the driver-side door only. An inch existed between the street-leaning palms; matching in parallel the cant of our fiberglass roof. Yes We Can.
We rose rested and walked the single block to the best place on the island to get a cafe con leche and a bucci served in a tiny plastic cup. Bucci, a shot of espresso, still goes for fifty cents. A small cup full of espresso, or a "colada," will run you $1.25. The same guy is serving it. His hair is a shade lighter now, but his practiced motions are identical. The smells are identical.
This is home. This is the second home that will always be in my back pocket when I need it.