When you see my flipflops, you say, ‘Please—change your shoes.’ But I packed almost all work shoes, and have only these. Muttering, you pocket the $100 and the hotel receptionist eyes me. 5.00am and I’m in a car in Medellin with a stranger. Because of my shoes, no hiking, but you know a place. Up and up, through the barrios of Antiquoia before we stop. Beside the dirt road, we see Andean Emerald, Yellow-headed Manikin, Sharpbill. Lacrimose Mountain Tanager, Chestnut-winged Chachalaca, Long-tailed Potoo, Amazonian Swift, Violet-tailed Sylph. You leap in delight when we tick the rare, Red-Bellied Grackle. You’re heartbroken, you tell me; your girlfriend left you for another. I’m silent, wearing flipflops in cloud forest with a broken-hearted stranger.
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