The chips were crisp and thin. The dust of Tajín clung to them and left red streaks on the fingers. The taste was bright with lime and sharp with salt. The heat came fast and then faded but not completely. It left something behind. It made you want another and then another.
The sun was low and the air was warm. The road was dry and the dust from the street lifted in slow swirls as people walked past. A waiter set a plate of chips down on the table and the glass of beer beside them dripped with condensation. The beer was cold and bitter and the chips were sharp and hot. It was a good way to sit and pass the time.
The sound of the city moved in the background. Music from the cafés drifted through the air. The hum of voices rose and fell in waves. The evening came on slow. It was a good time of day. The kind of time where everything is steady and you don’t have to think about what comes next. The kind of time where the bite of chili and lime on your tongue is enough.
The chips were piled high on the plate. Each one curled at the edges where the oil had crisped them just right. They were thin but they did not break too easily. The heat did not overstay. It was sharp and fast and it made the lime taste stronger. There was a rhythm to it. A chip then a drink then another. The beer cooled the tongue and the salt made you reach for more.
The streetlights flickered on. The sky turned the color of old brass. People moved past the café. Some stopped and sat at the tables. Others leaned against the bar inside where the glasses clinked together and the bartenders moved in quick lines. The night would come soon but there was still time.
The plate of chips was half gone now. The red dust of Tajín stayed behind on the ceramic. The taste of lime still lingered. The heat had faded but it would come back with the next one. It always did. There was nothing to do but sit and eat them and wait for the night to settle in.
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