@peterco told me he knew a place.

A beach club hidden somewhere between black water, pink eclipses and the moment a Cuba Libre starts making excellent decisions on your behalf.

So naturally, I followed him to CATalonia.

The drinks were cold.

The music was loud.

The catgirls were polished, dangerous and clearly not interested in behaving after sunset.

What began as one innocent night at the beach quickly turned into neon, wet skin, private cabanas and several memories that may require nine lives to survive.

Thanks for showing me the way, @peterco.

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