The sun sets; the natty dogs approach the fences, lights of the cruise-ships move in the distance, while the forklifts, and shore to ship hydraulic cranes regain some of the energy lost from the mid-day sun. Further out in the farthest reaches of the city, blackouts mandate over pockets as lights flicker exposing the haves and the have-nots. Strings of rusty trucks and tardy taxis await some catches, cargo goods or rubbishy boxes, beds and BMWs in return of the precious dollar trickle.
Resisting the ugly belly underside of Britain I welcome anything especially this. The putrid smell of cauliflower and the women with their pretty genes. The Olympian blacks versus my puny line life I stack. The Vaseline-coated shores that glisten from the glossy pages from brochures. I jumped off ship and found a cheap hotel near the U.S. Marine Corps. I jumped off ship, disbanded, heaven forget the people I pissed off. How can one live around moral imbeciles by day, to think I’d let a fool, fool me with pillow talk of business ventures while my soul grated with a fork on rusted barrels. I might have spiralled into oblivion had I spent two more days with that cunt, festered in my own pre-existence like swamps.
So jump. I become the tropical tyrant with a pyramid of parakeets to my back, better yet the Sittamus Grisercapillus, foraging insects on trunks, catching them in mid-flight, temporarily skipping the end I dreamt, settling calmly on the island of Hispaniola.
Very few coastal captains worry about the antecedents of their crewmen or the possession of proper papers. I could have been from any where, it was just as easy to go over the fence. Debtors, social misfits and absconding husbands - just as much as some dumb hench idiot - can all be found on the small vessels around these ports.
I thought I might take this time to write something of value. Settle for a bit. Accept my tranquillity perhaps. Search a story to cover for the BBC world service online, rejoicing the fact that I am free of possessions, free of all ties, free of fear and malice. My room looks like the type of space used in brothels, I’m yet to see anybody in the other rooms. Last night I heard some thumping and screaming as though a girl’s hymen had been pilfered. At one point a blasted pigeon came into my room and shat all its guts, I swear it died on my floor, and was given a second chance in life. I'm left staring at the ceiling.