A Pleasant Sunday in Paradise

The gecko is in his usual place, clinging to the slanted wooden ceiling twelve feet above my head. The living room of our cottage is open in front, and I'm looking out into a blackness filled with the sound of the sea. People who live next to it probably get used to it; I don't think I ever would.

I'm thinking the gecko could be a bit more proactive in his hunting; I've been gnawed by mosquitoes the last two days, and I see them now, tiny things casually floating around, pretending to be...