* They had long wanted to talk about the chaos that had enveloped their lives in a sixty day period; the time between visa runs. And so they did. With the boy's new girlfriend, a result of a strange series of coincidences which he himself had accidentally initiated, while he was bound by a time frame of pretending to be home all night to his current boyfriend. They both had new partners, in other words, and life had moved on dramatically. Sometimes sophisticated in their calls, sometimes barren in their hopes, theirs was a new found glory. Tum pid=plahd went the line, I make a mistake. I don't love her 100 per cent, the boy admitted. Sometimes only 60 or 70 per cent, sometimes 80. Well we all make compromises, he said in a too wordy English, which meant much of what he said was not understood. If you gave 100 per cent you would be giving your life away, surrendering to another. Something like that. Choirboys in quicksand, went the song, In the land of hungry ghosts. Choirboys, choirboys, choirboys in quicksand. Kah kah kah went the girls outside the bars, their calls meant to entice but to a foreigner were as much like crow calls as calls to the divine. Massage boys didn't do much but smile if you went slow, or beckoned. He'd got used to the fact now that foreigners were often regarded with repulsion. They were large, smelly, stupid and drunk and undeservingly had far too much money.
Post The Apocalypse
Post The Apocalypse
Post The Apocalypse
* They had long wanted to talk about the chaos that had enveloped their lives in a sixty day period; the time between visa runs. And so they did. With the boy's new girlfriend, a result of a strange series of coincidences which he himself had accidentally initiated, while he was bound by a time frame of pretending to be home all night to his current boyfriend. They both had new partners, in other words, and life had moved on dramatically. Sometimes sophisticated in their calls, sometimes barren in their hopes, theirs was a new found glory. Tum pid=plahd went the line, I make a mistake. I don't love her 100 per cent, the boy admitted. Sometimes only 60 or 70 per cent, sometimes 80. Well we all make compromises, he said in a too wordy English, which meant much of what he said was not understood. If you gave 100 per cent you would be giving your life away, surrendering to another. Something like that. Choirboys in quicksand, went the song, In the land of hungry ghosts. Choirboys, choirboys, choirboys in quicksand. Kah kah kah went the girls outside the bars, their calls meant to entice but to a foreigner were as much like crow calls as calls to the divine. Massage boys didn't do much but smile if you went slow, or beckoned. He'd got used to the fact now that foreigners were often regarded with repulsion. They were large, smelly, stupid and drunk and undeservingly had far too much money.