Somewhere nearby, older children lurked, already wrestling with modern realities like drugs, gangs, and the dearth of opportunities for all but the fortunate. Somewhere nearby was a homeless alcoholic, sleeping behind a dumpster and dreaming of a highland village in Central America that he should never have left. New York rewards the strong and the lucky. Everyone else gets by or gets devoured. It has always been that way.

Ted, hidden in shadow beneath the overhead subway tracks, watched the pageant play out from the opposite side of the street. Farther down the avenue was the coffee shop with a six-foot hand-painted sign reading desayunos all day. Judging by the line out front, it was doing a brisk business. He was not early or late. He thought about standing out in the direct sunlight where he would be more visible but decided his hangover took precedence.

“Hey! What are you doing over there?” Kenzie, hair as red as he remembered it being in his dream, stood in the doorway of the coffee shop. She waved him over. “Come on. I’ve got a booth.”

The noise hit him first. Everyone seemed to be talking at once. An infant squalled; squabbling siblings were told to behave by shrill female voices. Harried waitresses with pencils poking from their hair took orders, refilled coffee, and hustled black-clad busboys into clearing dishes. Everywhere was the sound of cutlery connecting with plates.

The atmosphere hit next. Hot, humid, and laden with scents of cooking pork; boiling oil; grilled, toasted, and fried breads of every description; and over it all, peppers. Peppers in a dozen varieties. Ted’s eyes watered, but his senses finally woke. The hangover receded and made way for an appetite. Suddenly he was ravenous.

“Are you okay? You look like the canary that swallowed the cat.” Kenzie was full of energy and good spirits, as though she had slept well and been up for hours.

“This is the best I’ve felt all morning. Where’s your mystery man?”

“He’ll be along. Let’s get you some coffee.” She waved for the waitress and with further hand signals indicated they needed two cups—pronto.

“I don’t drink often enough to get good at it,” he confessed. “I had a few beers watching a ball game.” And a late-night phone call and too many things on his mind.

A busboy set two cups before them and turned to go.

“And water,” Ted said.

The young man looked at him with perfect incomprehension.

“Agua. Dos, por favor,” Kenzie said, earning a huge smile from the busboy before he ran off. “This friend of mine who’s coming—he’s like the saint of Corona. You’ll like him. And”—she paused for dramatic effect—“he knows everybody and where all the bodies are buried. You’ll see.”

Ted was rallying. Sitting across from this woman certainly helped. “If you say this guy is okay, then I believe it.”