I’m so hungry. I am so goddamn hungry, and it’s too late. People here eat way too late. I don’t have enough brainpower left to decipher this Spanish menu. But I try. Meat. Meat. Meat. I hate Mexico. 

A teacher notices my furrowed brow and asks what’s wrong. “It’s all meat”, I say, gesturing at the many pictures of piles of rice covered in various animal fleshes. She looks down, examining it, appearing to be in deep thought as she contemplates the menu, apparently convinced she’ll be able to pull some vegetarian option out of thin air. Then she lights up. 

“Here!” She points, and goes back to her seat at the other end of this long, long table.

I glance down at the menu, dubious. 

Arroz Con Pollo. Apparently I’m not the only tired one.