I saw Juan in the cafe in the morning. He asked if I had eaten all of the fruit from the bin. "No, not all of it," I told him. He looked worried and said that the kitchen ladies had come in this morning and there was almost no fruit. I apologized and said I was hungry. I mentioned that he had told me to eat all the fruit that I wanted. He said it was ok, everything is ok, don't worry about it. He still looked worried. I wasn't worried.
I called the girl from the restaurant but didn't get an answer. I tried again a little later in the evening and got no answer again. Not too surprising.
The party was a bust too. There were about half a dozen folks in the cafe, with the lights dimmed and music playing from a bluetooth speaker. There was one girl there, who was hideous and obese. The five or so guys in the room sat around her in a circle, laughing at everything she said. I went up to my room to pack.
Later that night, I got hungry and went back down to the cafe. Everyone from the party had gone home or found better parties. The kitchen was blocked off, but a shelf in the eating area displayed many cellophane bags of coffee beans. I was out of coffee and had been meaning to buy one of these, even though they probably cost more than ten bucks.
Nobody was around. So I took a medium-sized bag and pulled the ones behind it up into its place. Stealing the coffee was wrong and unjustifiable, but not so immoral that it would keep me up at night.
My date prospect had flaked, and there was no longer anything holding me in Guatemala. I'd been working without pay for a whole work week on my vacation. I was looking forward to quitting my job, dropping everything, and hitchhiking to a new country all over again. That's what kept me up at night.
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