Except for the local practice of working and travelling in a temperate climate it hasn’t been cool anywhere else even at night since I arrived. But now it is becoming consistently skin peeling hot in the sun – and a high bake setting in the house.My typing arms rest in their own pools of body waste on the edge of the bench. Inevitably crossed legs squelch on recrossing – the smell of drains wafting through the open ever optimistic for a draught of fresher air door to the garden- is blending with the rank un-deodorised fragrance of Apres Work.
A HARD AUDIENCE
POOR BROKEN BUTTERFLIES
A PLACE TO CELEBRATE 
May 15, 2011 at 10.05 |
no airconditionning?
cha~wallah!
seargent major saab!