18/02/2009
10:00-ish
We sit in Sao Mai restaurant. I always forget how to spell restaurant.
Denny is concentrating on a card he is writing to Vance.
Vance is in the Hellhole.
I watch people walking past.
I move the table with my leg. Denny looks up. He looks at his work. He burps.
Going back to the well are you love? It’s good for you to have this without milk. He fiddles with his tea-bag. He takes a sip and nods appreciatively then screws up his face. Too lemony.
He describes what he just did because he knows I am doing the same and laughs.
And because I’m so fucking artistic I wrote a poem about it*, I finish his sentence. We laugh.
He goes back to writing and I sip my tea.
Denny’s pineapple pancake arrives and I watch the river front. Are those coconut palms Den? Yep. They can kill you if a coconut falls on your head you know.
My pancake arrives.
Hot banana and batter. Denny keeps writing. Yum yum. Is yours good? Yes. He takes some of mine. Not as good as yours though.
I watch the boats go past, some quite large ferrying bikes and people, others small with two people, long, thin and under pole power.
Can I read your letter? It’s boring. I love boring letters. I think you’d like this better. You’re in it. Lots.
He wants me to read his piece.
We talk about dumplings. I read Vance’s letter. It’s a pretty card.
Read me your stuff Den.
Am I in your new story? Yes, Den.
He reads me his piece. I am described as a book junkie though he describes me verbally as a hungry-bungry snotdragon.
I read him what I have written so far of Chapter 2.
Do you like it? Yes. Do you like mine? Yes. Let’s go home and have a cuddle. Okay.
Denny whistles a tune and reads the Lonely Planet. He kisses my arm and my head and slaps me on the shoulder. I think I might need a toothpick. Arrr, the Toothpick Monster.
Stop writing and pay attention to me! Right, let’s go home, a slow walk home. We’ll keep the map out.
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