My car chortles when I accelerate, the weld binding the silencer is loose and the thing keeps trying to clear its throat. The aftermath of too many belly scrapes, crawling the West Coast, 6 or 7 deep. Know a shop in Nawala where they can weld it for like Rs 300. Look at chrome coffee mugs, think about houses I knew but never entered. It’s hot in Colombo, the streets are hot. Was loading packages into a van all morning, my dress shirt damp with sweat. Thadiya Nala someone told me, raining in sweat. Things are so fucked up in the field. I don’t even know where to start.
Trying to close the deal on this apartment. Walking around with envelopes full of cash and fretting over 80 rupee bath packets. Keep writing my budgets on scraps of paper, figuring out admirable squeezes and then proceeding to behave in exactly the same manner. Getting sick of the bath packets. Rebecca & Joseph, Senuri, anonymous bundles of fish and egg in paper that I haven’t ventured into. Makes me queeze. And the economy confuses me. Someone in Moratuwa must be brewing bathtubs of dhal and chicken curry. Would kinda like to see these production centers, but then kinda not. Take the plastic bag, pay 160 and walk down the road. Nod at the security guard that keeps extorting me for pocket calendars and T-Shirts. ‘Kama’ I say, explaining some particular detour.
I read the American news obsessively. Cheer for Obama and cringe at Clinton’s plastic politic. Think he’s inspiring, principled, new. Could use some leadership, globally methinks. The logic of the last 7 years has been childish and a wee bit destructive. Trying to cross the streets, use the crosswalk. Just walk in front of cars, cause they have to stop. Technically I guess, you never know. Figure as long as I don’t make eye contact it’s not a negotiation.