* Peter has gone off to Cambodia this morning; and suddenly they were alone again in an apartment he loved but could not afford; and everything trekked backwards. Organised, he was a threat to others; but appeared charming none the less. He tried to make himself a small target but was there anyway, ready for any major disaster which needed a reporter. In the blood. Nothing changed. Then there were so many other projects to accomplish. Slowly getting organised; these things were slowly taking precedence as he scrambled to make more cash. Here in the aftermath. There in the fall. Splattered and rebuilding, mud on the side walk, a sticky glue which ate away at everything, a crying maul, a desperate melancholy, a final laugh. There was nothing left of lost love but a few digital images; caught briefly on a malfunctioning phone. And a memory imprinted in his brain which bore no relationship to reality; those astonished, sceptical looks, a boy like that, so obviously poor, and in the meantime, because poverty bore no relationship to availability, here in the nightfall, there in the afternoon, he systematically retraced his steps; felt moved towards another place, caught an empty fragment drifting through the air, recovered, physically, slowly, and said to a new boy: I love you, in the Thai sense, I take care of you, you take care of me, as long as the money lasts I like you.
Fleeing
Fleeing
Fleeing
* Peter has gone off to Cambodia this morning; and suddenly they were alone again in an apartment he loved but could not afford; and everything trekked backwards. Organised, he was a threat to others; but appeared charming none the less. He tried to make himself a small target but was there anyway, ready for any major disaster which needed a reporter. In the blood. Nothing changed. Then there were so many other projects to accomplish. Slowly getting organised; these things were slowly taking precedence as he scrambled to make more cash. Here in the aftermath. There in the fall. Splattered and rebuilding, mud on the side walk, a sticky glue which ate away at everything, a crying maul, a desperate melancholy, a final laugh. There was nothing left of lost love but a few digital images; caught briefly on a malfunctioning phone. And a memory imprinted in his brain which bore no relationship to reality; those astonished, sceptical looks, a boy like that, so obviously poor, and in the meantime, because poverty bore no relationship to availability, here in the nightfall, there in the afternoon, he systematically retraced his steps; felt moved towards another place, caught an empty fragment drifting through the air, recovered, physically, slowly, and said to a new boy: I love you, in the Thai sense, I take care of you, you take care of me, as long as the money lasts I like you.