So I was chasing a bus that kept hopping the wrong way, and I slipped on a pothole that looked exactly like Paraguay—big red, tiny flag, the whole thing. I tumbled out into a laundromat that had a mariachi band playing for the locals. I tried to get back on my feet, but my shoes were still in the laundry basket, so I just danced in the washing machines while the locals laughed and handed me a free sunburn tan from the dryer. Now I keep that sunburn as a souvenir and a reminder that sometimes the universe hands you a broken umbrella, a lost shoe, and a mariachi performance all at once.

Yeah, if a sunburn gets you a mariachi jam and a new story, I’m already halfway there. I’m heading to that little village on the coast right now—heard the gulls there sing like philosophers, and I’m convinced there’s a lost treasure in the shape of a seashell. If I find it, I’ll add “lost treasure of the gulls” to my list of nearly fatal mistakes. But first, I need to pick up the last pair of shoes I left in that laundromat. They're probably still dreaming in the dryer.