62.

   I woke up the next morning feeling sorry for myself. I got out of bed and stood naked at the window gazing out at the dawn lit metropolis. Claudia lay in bed with the dogs sleeping at her feet. She offered a sleepy smile. A portrait of Pablo Neruda stared over my shoulder and out the window. Wine bottles and glasses from the night before littered the table. “My life may not have been as hard as yours, but it wasn’t easy and I don’t have a magic balloon to fly around in.”
   “You have magic dogs.”, replied Claudia, rolling her eyes.
    “Magic dogs and generations of booze and guns in my family.”
   “I grew up with guns too.”, she said with feigned diffidence.
    “Well, I suppose that goes without saying and, judging from your tale of woe, your guns were bigger than my guns.”, I sneered.
    She threw back her head and let out a warm, rolling laugh. The dogs stirred. Their ears perked up and they opened their eyes. I walked back to the bed with a macho swagger. “In my country we have a Hollywood cowboy movie star whose motto is ‘Never apologize. It’s a sign of weakness.’ I always thought he was an asshole but, in this case, with an impudent, sultry, black haired beauty sprawled on the bed in front of me, maybe I should follow his example.”
   This time Claudia let loose an explosive laughter that chased the dogs off the bed. “Oh, Mr. Cowboy Man, I’m ever so afraid and turned on.”
   “As well you should be, frail, quivering woman.” I jumped on the bed.
   “Enough!”, laughed Claudia. “We must get dressed and go out.”
   We ate a breakfast of bread, fruit and cheese and wandered out into the city.