Panama // Palenque Sunset*

PARTYDOLL ALMANAC

Are these feathery squiggels everywhere on top of the sand? No, they are imprinted in it. I asked Garrett what time he thought it was and he said it didn't matter, for three days it hasn't mattered. I still wanted to know. He guessed 3:00 and I guessed 7:00. He says the sun sets at 6:30. I think the sun sets at 8:30. Garrett has been working behind the bar since 6:30 this morning. Josh had been at least two whole days without sleep when he finished his shift at the bar at 8:00 this morning. So what time is it?

Poor Garrett wasn't expecting to do so much manual labor on his vacation. He says he was only supposed to be the festival's cinematographer. From behind the bar, Josh is assuring me that Garrett's 18-hour bartending shifts are part of their pre-arranged deal, that Garrett agreed to work at the festival, and in exchange Garrett's admission ticket was discounted and all his food is free, when there is food. Not to mention all the drugs you get for free when you work at the Driftwood Bar like we do, selling drugs out of the cash register, working on an incalculable commission.

I stand on my toes and lean over the counter to see inside, behind the bar. In the corner, the cinematographer is unloading bags of ice off his back and breaking them into a big plastic storage bin. He is slamming heavy blocks of ice against the side of the bin, then gently taking an ice shard in his hand and holding it up to the light.

"How is Garrett doing?"

Josh and I look over at Garrett.

"He's tripping balls and busting ass."

Then Josh puts his face close to mine and we stare vacantly into each other's eyes. It seems like his pupils are vibrating, or maybe it's mine. Garrett restocks the plastic bin with bottles of water and cans of two-dollar beer. I sing to myself my song about the Driftwood Bar:

Una cerveza, dos dólares. In the cash drawer, coke and acid.

Josh takes a stump of chalk and adds "the time" to the chalkboard menu pegged to the inside wall of the dirt-floor Driftwood Bar. It costs three dollars.

Garrett comes over and tells me that since he saw me last, he asked six different people what time they thought it was. They all looked up at the sky and then gave vastly different answers.

An old man pulls a fifth of Abuelo rum out of his back pocket,

"How can I say you what time when there no sun is?"

The girl who speaks only Spanish sings loudly at night in English,

"The sun is shining in the sky!"

The pretty Canadian girl with the Spanish name tells me from behind the bar, 

"This pineapple is the best part of the day, and it's been a pretty good day."

The cute boy with the hat comes to the bar with a coconut and asks her to fill it with Abuelo. He sees the pineapple smeared on my switchblade and smiles at me wildly. He might not be that cute after all.

*A palenque sunset is a signifier divorced from the thing it signifies.

It's a sign without an accepted meaning.