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The entirety of the scene made him break out in a cheshire grin. Here he was on a pool float at 2am. The thick humidity of the Pacific Ocean turning the night in a warm embrace. In his left hand - the remnants of a mostly vodka smoothie; his right, an almost completed cigarette. He'd wanted to have given them up this year - both dirty vices. But then, well..... last year happened.

He'd boarded the plane to the east coast of Mexico with trepidation. What if he got 'it' and got sick where he doesn't speak the language clearly? Was he being reckless in the name of boredom with his shelter-at-home routine?

He took one last thick drag and then extinguished it in the leftover smoothie. What a fucking endless year it had been. Breathing out, he created one last puff of smoke before the clock in the house rang twelve.

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