The sunlight was suddenly thrown against the wall and the shadow of a potted plant on the balcony was pressed there, too, like it was trying to sneak in without anyone noticing. A silly impression, a hangover from the scene I’d witnessed at Mismaloya. I sat on the end of the bed and looked at the wall. The light was really very nice. A pale, buttery yellow, and the plant dipped and rose there, the broad, shapely leaves of a croton.
