Burned Bath

It was three in the morning, the second day I move Galway, far far from my small but good-looking cottage in the foothills where I own one mean agroecosystem where I left behind the sweetest donkey a man could ever own, the darling ears would lap on me, curl my lips with lemons juice then flounce off into a nearby slope, oh and my wife and seven children too lived with me and remain there to look after my celestial home and belongings.

Of which I will reveal to you them in order of the most important first then descend to ones less so proud: My map of Eurasia, dated 1607 (my lifelong dream was to become a shepherd there, but sadly when I arrived for the first time, three nights ago, the date has expired on Eurasia and I can no longer live my dream but live something else, not a dream, but not bad) , my copies of Time Magazine (from which I learn all my English from), complete collection from 1972-1978, missing some issues from 1976, machete seven inches and three centimetres long, butterfly net, tweed jacket slight blemish on left underarm, my cans of ajiaco.(which is the nicest stew in the world made from potatoes, chicken, corn, avocado and herbs.) ,and finally the least favourite of my items I belong, the mirror which my wife’s parents gave us, to remind us of who we are,I hate what I see in it, the map is my mirror, that is why I want now to travel the world, and not look at myself and get depressed by how many lines are on my faces, chewing away at my man.

In Galway everyone I lived with in the Duplex was awake, as does a living vampires as Remy would call us proudly while eating grapes from her long sepulchre fingers. I wonder she could kill a man with them, not a Colombian man though, we are made from the toughest rocks and shells, and our guardians are the hardest mountain goats.

How do I say this next bit in English? I will try my best: Life guard jackets lifestyle croaked on nocturnal demigod remove from its shell. The film The Neverending Story had just stopped, which I thought was deceptive although I was looking forward to seeing some of the creatures in this film here tomorrow, we don’t have creatures like Falcor in Columbia.

So I headed to bed where my eyelids were nearly at a mutiny for they wanted to close. ( I like the way I am allowed to write the word mutiny if you write the word mutiny in my country, men take you away to a urinal)

The sounds of sparks lead me to believe that someone else was having a shower and they me too. Then the sound furious like Mount Vesuvius made us all pay attention. Curtain, towels and hand fleshed spatula of water were dispatched for action, and soon it was quelled beneath a silence, which beat up or broke good the hysteria of girl tears, maniac efforts to beat the fire with my big naturally arms and prayers to obscure gods of which I did not know of, sank down past gridded teeth, to the place of solitude and ruin, the bath plastic melted and vitiated, smelled of Halloween, a black hole oozed, then ashes covered us all in dysentery , like a spray of black crows fried onto cardboard plates and chucked down our throats. This was the first time I felt at home, under the ceiling of ash with people who had went through shit, tough shit.