Two girls from the hotel just came in the room to change my sheets while I was writing this and while one of them is changing the sheets, the other one is just standing there staring around absently and PICKING HER NOSE, neither of them saying a word and I’m certain that when they go back into the hall they’ll have a good laugh about something they saw in the room, the cigarette butts on the floor or the half empty bottle of rum on my table or my Panama hat on the bed, or some damn thing or another that they would certainly ignore if I were just a Spanish guy like them. Staring, staring, always staring like they’d never seen a foreigner’s face before, like you can feel the heads turning behind you to stare as you walk down the street. I mean it’s not like I got long hair or weird clothes or tattoos on my face or three eyes. What is it with these sheeple? Chicken face with four bottoms. Hahahahaa!!
Oh God where does it all start, how did I ever get here on desperation row and why do I stick around? I’m seeing the world through madman’s eyes– because I’m here now, in the world of limits when my eyes have already seen far horizons apart from this. I see right through the futile ideology of my fellow idiots and their futile contrivances. I am embarrassed for them and shed a silent tear for them– for all of us. For me, to be exact.
At least the maids at my motel aren’t that bad. (thank you)
beautiful tragicomedy; great writing as usual JS.