We weren't talking much, just making some casual couple chitchat about how this time last year, we were walking across a bridge in San Juan, Costa Rica—yes, it was this day, wasn't it, September 2nd, our first morning waking up together in another country, getting up and going out to explore a new neighborhood in a new place where we could hardly speak any of the native language, and wasn't that just the most magical adventure on earth. Neither of us could've ever imagined taking a vacation like that in our past lives, but we did it, this time last year, and we'll never stop remembering it.
Then we rounded a corner, coming up on the embankment under one of the bridges, and I saw the middle aged woman with her dirty jeans pulled down to her knees, relieving herself against a black iron fence in plain view of the walking path. I said, "Is she doing what I think she's doing?"—because if she was, I didn't want to interrupt. Let the woman have her dignity, before she knew we'd seen her.