"An hour?" I said.
"Half an hour," she replied and took her lovely butt up the street.
I flew into the showers of the backpacker, filled with energy that could have lit a city of 220,000 residents. I washed my balls like a madman and sang some Hasidic songs, unaware of the fact the entire backpacker thinks some crazy rabbi came to town. By the way, people always sing in the shower because they are certain no one can hear them because of the noise the water makes when it's landing on their head. I got to my room and wore my finest clothes, which as a castaway tourist, sums itself up with an older white T-shirt that has gone through 250 times in the laundry, and had the best fabric in the world, ripped jeans and flip-flops. What can I do? I don't even have shoes. Because it was a fun beach
