It's siesta time when we wander back to the bike, and on upstairs windows everywhere the shutters have been closed. The shutters look mysterious, sexy--they make you wonder what might be going on behind them.
"Do you have a siesta? I ask.
"Only in the heat," he answers. I know he's looking up at the shutters, thinking the same thoughts as me, wishing it was the two of us up in a room somewhere.
