Days in the desert
August 21st 2006 The ceiling was black; or was it white? Or did it actually change colour depending on the time of the day?
That was all that I could grasp as I lay in bed with Miss Malaria, munching medicines.
In the hallway outside my room - high-heeled prostitutes “clicketi-clacketed” back and forth with their new and old customers - and outside our questionable hotel - unenthusiastic independence-day cel
... read more