Chapter 11: Marcos Unveiled
It was just a dream. Nothing was real about it at all on Flight 308. Zilch. Of course it was a dream. Marcos had never visited Barefoot Beach. The dilapidated and half-burned down bungalow next to mine wasn’t owned by his aunt. He had never been in the Marines that I knew of. The dream was just that, honestly. A dream. It was only a dream.
The dream ended and my plane landed safely in Seattle, Washington. I rented a room for the night, having every intention of gaining rest for my next-day adventure. The hotel was called Merlot where I stayed, which was in downtown Seattle and walking distance from the popular Fish Market. A boyishly cute maître d’ assisted me, and heavily flirted with me. He stated that he would help me with any and all of my requests, which
