We walk in wisps of nauseous fumes, in tickling rot of hate: in words, in deeds. We’re destined, weighted with our AK-47:s, and C4-belts. We hate your joy, your music and your food.
The young man slouches, his curious eyes glistening, embraced by nightlife he could be on his way to a date. He smiles to a waitress, smoking outside a bar.
“Whore”, he mutters.
“Maybe later” (Louder), she smiles back at him.
Continues glancing at his watch, just another 10 minutes.
“Infidels, our blood will mingle in the gutter.”.
He stops outside Le Petit Cambodge. A handsome man.
Having missed one week I was eager to get back. Last week was crazy with a book-release on the weekend, a business trip to France and some other thing. I’m sorry but I couldn’t get any other story in my head… I guess I will not be the only one.
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November 18, 2015