“Wipe your muddy face with this,” The first pillow thrown did not hit him. The next pillow hit his mud-covered face, smack in the middle of his face as it gazed up at the mountainside. The pillows were thrown one after another and scattered on the mud. Even all the locals were out in full force throwing. Something caught in my chest and I had a coughing fit. There’s no need anymore for thinking, for remembering, for anything at all. Leave everybody behind. Someone threw a champagne bottle. “Thank you. I carried this without complaining, so I have the right to drink at least this much.” Seeing this, the children roared with laughter, the meat on his neck’s hanging like a cow.
1997
Private Collection