Journal, March 17, 1977 PM

I hope this is the last time I have to wait on a beer truck for a while! I’m at El Ande, for I hope the last time in my life, waiting for the Cervecería de Costa Rica {brewery} to come get their damn cases of empty bottles and beer, and leave me in peace! I don’t even like the music they’re blaring over the sound system here. Some Latin Donny Osmond!

What a life I lead! This morning I measured the last 100 of some 700 grains of rice for the replication of a weird experiment Dr. Mora thinks is “muy buena {very good}.” I’ve been sitting here adding up the pages in my account book & reading La Nación {newspaper}, things I can’t seem to find time for at home now that I have a wife to occupy my time. <Last night Sofia was feeling sore in the abdomen and cold, but wouldn’t go to bed alone, & let me catch up on a few things.> She hung around in her flimsy nightie rubbing her body against my shoulder and shivering.

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