Amanda knew they were lost. In Buenos Aires for a week before heading west toward Chile, she and Joey had spent the day sightseeing, a full day of walking. Amanda’s feet burned and swelled in her shoes. Her tongue sat heavy in her mouth and she silently wished she had convinced Joey to stop for a drink at the cafe they had passed more than an hour ago. Joey walked on with the supreme confidence that infuriated Amanda. The path they walked was along the water and he figured it would lead them back. They were walking west, he reasoned, toward the setting sun. But no others walked by. As they progressed the wind pushed at their backs. Amanda’s long black hair waved around her face, blinding her. She turned to face the wind, tears in the corners of her closed eyes and gathered the mane of hair in one hand, as she tied it in a knot with the rubber band. Stands of hair escaped from the band and whipped around her face. White paper swirled around her calves. In the distance she heard loud pops. Amanda stopped to listen, ears straining to determine the source of the sound. She called to Joey. The wake from a passing boat hit the concrete with a slap. A gull sitting on a post screeched. A chainlink fence rattled against a jumble of twisted wires and rotting wood. Joey turned toward Amanda. Another pop echoed. Joey’s knees buckled and he crumpled to the ground.