<small>Stop and use this page as a prompt if you wish, or continue on from here. Or you could [[a mind to meander|go back to where the river begins]].</small> ---- I still remember the day we went over the falls in a barrel. Yep. It was just you and me back then against the world, remember that Chinampa? Haha, Vendetta was chasing us, across the country, heck, across TWO countries, AT LEAST, and then we came to the falls and the river banks were too steep to ascend and Vendetta’s posse was right behind us, coming around that last bend, and we knew there was nowhere to go but over. Past the point of no return. Lucky that stack of barrels was sitting there. That’s actually kind of a weird coincidence, now that I think about it. But yeah, those were the days, right? Devil may care, life or death, do or die. Man I remember my heart was pounding so hard as we climbed in and pulled the lid shut over top of our heads, I think [[the only thing pounding louder than my heart]] was yours, pressed against mine cuz there was barely any room in that little capsule. I still can’t believe we survived. And then when we finally emerged. Dizzy, half bent, half broken, all laughing and crying and OH MY GOD OH MY GOD, haha, I thought we would never get all the water out of all our clothes and faces and mouths, and now here we are, running this little cafe by the downstream left bank of the river as it meanders lazily past the scattered villages and farms and woods and random outposts. We’re so close to where the falls come down that when the wind is right the fine mist blows through here and when the weather’s right we open the windows and it soughs right through the house, a crisp clear cloud sailing right through the kitchen, through all the little rooms with all the little tables and chairs and salt and pepper sets, infiltrating all our guests’ conversations and adding an air of mystery and possibility to every mundane preposition or proposition or mumbling or rambling or proclamation or-- And so where do we go from here? We’re comfortable, aren’t we Chinampa? You cook, I clean up and do the books, we sit together with our coffee late at night, you’re not supposed to drink coffee late but whatever, it’s our time, it’s our life, this cafe is always open for us because we literally live here and life is good and glowing and I love you and so that’s how I know you feel it too-- the call-- the blue deep creature from under the waves, beneath the surface. The creature of the unknown. It calls to us, it asks, What’s next? When and how [[my existence was unknown|will you willingly submit yourself]] to what you’re most afraid of? And remember, what you’re most afraid of isn’t always outrageous and extraverted, like going over the falls in a barrel. Sometimes what you’re afraid of is plain or unoriginal--sometimes it’s quiet and still, and maybe being quiet and still IS what you’re afraid of. So... What do you think? When are we gonna take a real risk again? What’s it gonna look like? What’s gonna propel us over the next edge? We haven’t seen Vendetta for years, man, I wonder what happened to her? Well, I dunno, but one thing’s for sure--whatever it is, whatever the next crazy stupid thing is, I just want to do it with you. Then I know it’ll all work out OK. Come on, it’s almost time for the lunch rush.