I force myself to look away. I don't want to see his wide face, the bulging eyes, the satisfied grin on those oily lips. I have no desire to gag over greying facial hair, turkey neck, flaccid jowls. Beer belly, beer breath.
Hmmm, I looked back. Yes, took in the whole horror, gagged. Oh, those porky fingers with yellow nails snaking around the tawny marble of the girl's upper arm.
A bit like fresh mango and sticky rice.

(... of which we had a taste at a food stall, in the evening. Overnight, Kira got violently ill. She prawled the house wrapped in a sheet, I followed her around thinking 'yep, part of life, part of Bangkok': finally fell into shallow sleep, with dreams of naked dolls writhing in vats of sticky rice, gagging as they sank.)

Monica, I can never eat sticky rice and mango again.....your imagery, oh man....RZ
ReplyDeleteSorry RZ, didn't mean to put you off your food. Thanks for the comment, I think...
ReplyDelete