I met Sofia last Friday night at the Fish Fry. Every Friday, our little island of Eleuthera throws down a rowdy street party on Cupid’s Cay. The tiny plywood shack, which every other day of the week sits boarded up and padlocked, casts open its shutters, the heavy scent of fry grease and charcoal billows forth, and the street fills with wave after wave of folks out for the second most important social event of the week, next to Sunday worship services, of course.