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Coquito: Una Delicia Invernal
The first flakes swirled outside her window. They promised to blanket the city in swathes of quiet and calm. No matter where you live, the scent of snow seems to carry with it the filmy smoke of a raging hearth. Cold has no smell, only sensation and association.
Three hours south on an island ravaged by wind and rain and steaming still, it’s winter too. It’s also Christmas, and tradition survives even when nothing else is left. Coquito burns white hot though it comes served chilled and looks like a spoonful of coconut snow dusted in cinnamon ashes. It coats her lips and travels down her body from the inside out. Someone else wants a taste. He licks her lips before he takes a sip. Together they shiver and sizzle until the bottle is gone.
If only summer came so fast.