They honeymooned over a long weekend at the Camino Real. They'd do it up right some other time, go to the South Pacific; the photos of Tahiti in the travel magazine someone had left on the train had seduced them immediately. But the hotel was part of their brief history.
They drank the same tequila at the same table in the same Juarez bar and staggered similarly back to the same bed and made love as they'd done that first time, nine months and four days before. The sirens began to sing at four in the morning, just as they were dozing off. They went to the balcony and watched the flames grow from a building not far across the border.
By the time the sun began to light the losing battle of the burning maquiladora, the El Paso Fire Department was crossing to help. She made coffee and they watched the thick black smoke rise over the listing, simmering city and fly away east.
Then they took two cold beers from the refrigerator and went to the pool.