Before our food arrived, Gypsy and I acted like junior high kids with their first crush. We both had something important to say and our nerves kept us...acting silly instead. Finally, after a lull in the excitement, we both blurted out each others names as we reached across the table for the other's hands. We laughed at our timing. After being together almost constantly for eight months, we found ourselves finishing each other's sentences and reading each other's minds. Gypsy had invited me to. He was covered in red welts from where the flies had bitten him. His short black hair had become decidedly oily, it stuck straight up too, like my son’s latest haircut. A fly landed on his face and with one strong, wide hand he waved it away. He looked fairly content lying there. Like he was lying on a beach getting a tan, not lying on ground that was solid one minute and swampy the next, in the middle of a jungle on an island stuck on the rim of the Pacific Ocean. He didn’t look like a guy. More

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