Under a dim moon and dim stars I walked down to a clearing over the sea where I made love to a girl some nights before. She could not have known that her romantic middle-aged lover was actually a stranded pederast who had experienced considerable strain in fulfilling his male role. Anything is better than nothing is a very bad approach to sex. I stood there hearing the sound of the sea several hundred feet down at the bottom of a steep slope, feeling the wind on my face and remembering the wind on our bodies, the wind that is life to Puerto de los Santos. Los Vientos de Dios, the winds of God that blow away the mosquitoes and the miasmal mists and the swamp smells. The winds of God that kept the great tarantulas and the poisonous snakes at bay. The natives have a saying: "Wind die. You die. We die."