The Melon-Breasted Girl
Desemboque It was close to midnight when I arrived at Desemboque. Desemboque, the mouth of the river. Only there was no river that I could see. And it seemed, even in the middle of the night, that I’d arrived at Dante’s Ninth Ring of Hell. That’s all I could think of at that moment. It was midnight and, with the windows open, still it felt like about 1,000 degrees, and as much humidity, here on the shores of the Sea…