Que Me Quiera Má

Love is sometimes like a party with an open bar: at first it makes your head spin, then it leaves you with a slight hangover. But if the cocktail turns out to be unpleasant, it's not a problem, because you can always order another one. It's the same here: a few complaints that “it hurts,” but much more confident dancing toward new adventures.

To the beat and rhythm that literally begs to be danced to, a philosophy as simple as morning toast with avocado sounds: if someone doesn't stick around, another will come along. Even better: with breakfast in bed and plane tickets in hand. The result is an ironic mixture of light flirting, male stubbornness, and summer carefreeness, where the sadness of failed love dissolves on the dance floor faster than ice in a glass of rum and Coke.