The giggles always hit her first. They invade on their own, uncalled for but not unwanted, and suddenly every last thing and smallest detail is a source of hilarity. She hears herself laughing as if from a distance, each second stretching longer and longer, and she has to concur: it's good shit. "They named you after the place you were born?" says Santana, who in her freedom from the horrors of Lima must have forgotten that people could actually be that absurd. "How creative."