Alanna wasn’t a natural storyteller. It took me a good ten minutes to realize the narrative was set in the present tense, that it was a problem tonight, whether she would return to the three-bedroom apartment in FiDi (as she called it) owned by her friend Victor. Or maybe it was managed by him; or maybe he knew the guy who managed it; or maybe he knew a guy who knew that guy; or maybe none of those things at all, it was never really made clear. This was all very like Victor, a 22-year-old of unclear origins who worked in cryptocurrency, no further detail.

Ethan and Esther had slept together the night before. All of us knew about it, but no one had talked about it. Including Ethan and Esther. That had kind of ruined the trip for Ethan, who had found himself watching Esther for outward sign of an inner flame, one that if it flickered did so very gently and very delicately, pale but nonetheless warm. Esther, in contrast, had spent most of the trip worried about her nausea, which had just now abated. She leaned back into her seat and gave an undirected sigh. She thought of the hot tub at the Airbnb and of how the clouds had boiled overhead on the beach.