Some words...followed by an idea for discount cribs

Kickin' it in Comayagua with my new friend Eric was a great time. A kindrid spirit (aka closet fatty) in pastry pursuits without weight gain, he's showed me around Comayagua while we walked between ice cream shops and reposterías. The only way my time in Comayagua would be improved would be if I could say I'd accidentally dropped an -a from my friend's name.

Comayagua is another mountain-encircled gem, with 60,000 citizens big enough for big city luxuries like malls, expansive markets, and gangs. But it's also small enough that you recognize people day-to-day and daytime danger is minimal, maybe nonexistant. And while there's a definite lack of street food vendors, the inner-market comedores are cheap and delicious while retaining sufficient mystery as to the sanitation of preparation. Plus Honduran enchiladas (perhaps my favorite food in the world) and baleadas cost mere pocket change at almost any restaurant. Yep, it's kinda like heaven.

My favorite image from Comayagua is a lady on the sidewalk, perched beneath a sun-shielding umbrella, crouched amongst a collection of squeeze-bottle chilis and ceramic dishes filled with salt, cutting and bagging chunks of fruit to sell, her infant child scuttling about at her back, clawing at the bars of his blanket-bottomed crib: the stolen grocery cart in which mom transports her entire operation.