Irene and her husband, Frank, are sitting in a cocktail lounge. This is the last day of their two-week trip through Mexico and, she thinks, possibly the last day of their relationship. As Frank yells at their waiter over trivialities, she tells him that she wants to stay another day and, for the first time this vacation, buy a few things for herself. He refuses, and their conversation grows bitter. We're in trouble, he says—how could she do this now? The trouble is that, while rushing to Monterey for a good hotel that night, Frank killed a young Indigenous Mexican boy on the road and left him there. He cannot stop himself from blaming Irene, and she cannot stop herself from getting up and looking for a bracelet to buy outside the bar. After a short walk, some worrying about the accident, and much contemplation of her three years of loveless marriage to Frank, she goes back in to her husband. His desperation soars. He even resorts to xenophobic, racist attacks against Mexicans, but she is unmoved. At first, Irene agrees to accompany him across the border, but when she sees him leave the bathroom looking composed, slick, and jaunty, she realizes she needs to leave him now. One slap later, he and the car are gone. The carefree, loving young couple in the bar, whom she's envied the whole time, leave in shock. Afterward, Irene walks around outside and buys a whole bag of cheap rings from a young boy. Several others flock around her to sell their wares, and Irene, feeling desire and the freedom to act on it for the first time in three years, bursts into tears.