The monkeys

Why does it smell like margaritas and body odor? Oh yeah that's me. "Water, agua por favor" I mutter still intoxicated from the night before. The bartender glares at me with his one good eye.

"We're not open gringa" he states flatly as he slams the empty glass on the bar in front of me.

A child giggles in the doorway and pinches her little nose at me.

Do I smell that bad? I think to myself as I sniff my shirt. Ugh. I do indeed. "Hey kid, do you know where I can use a phone?" She smiles and waves me over to her. "Where you visited by the monkeys?" she wispers.

What an absured question. "What monkeys?" I ask, half expecting a rational explanation as to why and how I came to wake up on a beach in Cabo with a splitting headache.

"You know, the monkeys." She urges. Her english surpsingly good.

"No, I don't know. Can you explain?" I growl out trying not to lose my patience and the contents of my stomach.

"Well they visit my dad sometimes. They steal all of his money, trash the house and shit in his mouth." Her little face dead serious as she looks at me.