Notes : Wow, haven't updated in awhile. Hopefully there are still some people interested out there. Anyway, this chapter is really where my love for Monica's Mexican culture comes in. :) And wow, I tried my best to get this down as accurately as a girl with four years of Spanish under her belt and a strange obession with the culture could, but I'm sure some experienced people out there can spot mistakes. Don't yell at me, I tried my best! Haha. But one of my good friends is from Mexico, however, and he's wonderfully patient with me so I was able to get a lot of information from him. Yesssss...so enjoy, hopefully, and do tell me what you think!

2:35 am

Monica ran her finger along the ripe skin of a violently orange tangerine that sat in a bundle with the others of its sort, in a basket surrounded by dozens of fellow baskets containing various fruits, all as vibrant as this tangerine in their colors.

A man with dark skin and dark but gentle eyes sat strumming odd notes on an old guitar at the side of the street. A Hispanic couple sat at one of the many cafe styled tables lining the narrow street. They were older, but as Monica looked at them, she could tell that the woman was just as beautiful as she had been when she was twenty-five, and that the man was handsome with green eyes that gazed and smiled at the woman as he held her hand upon the tabletop.

The street was strung with soft golden fairy lights that twinkled like stars beneath the black velvety sky, making anything its incandescence fell upon seem a rich carameled color, including Monica's skin as she picked up a fiercely green pepper from one of the woven baskets, popping it between her teeth while she fiddled in her pockets for some money.

Another dark skinned, kind looking man sat on a stool off to the left of all the street side baskets and crates, and smiled at Monica as she approached.

"Is this all?" He said in broken English, pointing to the vegetable now in her hand.

"Si...pero yo hablo espanol, no es necessario englis." She smiled as she informed him that she did indeed speak Spanish and that English was not needed. Brining the green pepper to her mouth she broke off a bit with her teeth, thinking vaguely about how wonderful it felt to speak her language aloud to someone who could actually understand it after so long. "Muchas gracias."

The man's smile widened slightly and he laughed, taking the money from her. "OK... Bien, muy bien, senorita...y de nada."

Monica noticed that both Mexican and American currency filled his small basket of coins and paper notes as he cautiously handed her three quarters back.

At that moment Monica felt a hand on her shoulder and she turned around quickly.

"John." She smiled, and nodded at the man to which he nodded back and thanked her once again.

Taking a few steps away and staring back down the street as she stuffed the quarters into her back pocket, Monica turned and leaned up against the brick wall of the nearest building, crunching on the spicy vegetable as her mouth continued its upward descent into a smile.

"So." John stared at her with that not-quite-smiling-but-amused-nonetheless look he did so well. She stared back with wide brown eyes. There was a silence, and Monica laughed softly.

"So this is what I wanted to show you. It's more than it seems at first glance."

" 'Looks like a gathering place for insomniacs."

Monica laughed and shook her head, eyes squinting in thought. "No John...you have to see it from my point of view. When I first visited DC years and years ago I heard about this place. It's what you might call an equivalent to a farmer's market in any other city, though instead of it being painstakingly early in the morning it's more conveniently run through dusk to dawn. I mean, how perfect is that for people who come from these countries where night is worshipped and sleep is considered a luxury?"

This provoked a laugh from John, another grin from Monica as she took a further bite of her pepper. "It's actually traditionally held San Diego County in California, in a couple different cities a year, all right on or close to the Mexican border. It stemmed out into other major cities in the US for the minority of Hispanics in the nineties. I used to go every month down in New Orleans; it's the only way to get decent Mexican goods in the states. They actually ship this stuff straight from all over Latin America, Mexico, even Spain."

John quirked an eyebrow as he listened to Monica, eyes wandering up and down the narrow street now, truly taking in all of the scenery for the first time. The lights above, below and all around them twinkled slightly mysteriously; the crates and stands full of all kinds of colorful goods spread messily but artfully along the sidewalks, the smell of coffee, cinnamon, and almost too-ripe fruit mixing with the fresh rain and heat that was radiating off the old sidewalks. Bundles of roses-- burnt orange fused at the tips with crimson and gold, ashen white, and a beautiful and strange mixture of all these colors sat at least every three feet down the sidewalk, some were tied to the lampposts and doorways in a festive manner while other bundles of lilies and cactus flowers were scattered, dusted and peppered anywhere from the tabletops of the cafes to the very stone sidewalk they stood on. To top it all off was the gentle but intense guitar notes that wafted through the air and into his ears from the instrument the man a little ways down the walkway had sitting in his lap, fingers flittering up and down it like a small army of butterflies.

It was all very south-of-the-border, indeed. It was pleasant, a small secluded world where one could disappear into the heat and romance of a culture and life quite unlike their own.

"So...why's this place dressed up so fancy anyway?" John asked after his eyes had come full circle to rest on Monica again, still snacking on her pepper.

"Well it's in our culture to be a little extravagant, but there are plenty of celebrations in the month of July they may be setting up for. Lunes Del Cerro which is sort of a Indian ceremony that comes around every year in Mexico for example...St. James day. We're always celebrating something." She shrugged, and smiled.

John nodded and let that suspiciously sly smile show on his face, glancing around again. There was a silence and he squinted over at her. "You eat that raw?"

"Sure."

"Looks like a Jalapeño."

"It is."

John stared, raising an eyebrow. "And you can handle it?"

Monica looked slightly startled and let out a barking laugh. "Oh sure, I grew up with these things. ...But I bet you couldn't."

"Oh yeah?"

She laughed. "Yeah."

"Try me."

She shook her head in amusement and held out the remaining half of the pepper, which was still quite a large portion. "Go right ahead, John."

He took the pepper by the stem between his thumb and index finger and with a flick of his wrist popped it into his mouth whole, watching Monica all the time. He raised both eyebrows and smiled over at her as he began to chew it, holding out his hands in a self-congratulatory manner.

"Great John, great. You're a real tough guy." She began to roll her eyes and at that moment John couldn't take this pretending anymore and let out a loud cough, his eyes beginning to water.

"Damn..." he muttered, laughing slightly, sucking in the air around him rapidly. Monica was doubled over with silent laughter.

"No need to show off for me, John...I know, and apparently you do too now, you don't want to mess with home grown Jalapeño peppers...c'mon," she laughed again, grabbing his hand and leading him off towards the cafe tables at the end of the street, "let me buy you a drink."