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Sep 2013
-The wind was seething, heavy.
-After waking, and gazing at the pummelled window
-I pulled my patchwork desert gear into a bag.
-I borrowed some sandals, a bike,
and ate a healthy bowl of noodle.
-Then peddled scowling at the wind.

-In the town, in the open maze of buildings,
-The sands were kept at bay.
-But i rode out. North and west and then south after a bit.
-I pushed through the stinging screaming,
-Past great shallow rivers, dust roads, donkey carts, snipped and snatched dialogues.

-A cloth cap pulled low
-Sunglasses
-A palistinian checkered scarf

-On the night bus out
-We stop and i leap out for a spliff and to relieve myself
-The night wind so much more terrible
-It bit down stubbornly (i'd stupidly left my desert gear on the little bed.)
-And pellets of rain added mockery to the situation.
-The line of shiverers excited to get back on the bus is slow and quivering
-So i let the cold become a numb cool
-So as to stand it
-And when the doorway appears to me in a dark warm glow
-I leap again; this time in,
-Then dig myself deep in the cosy alcove.
-Just then, my brain slowly/grinningly explodes.
-The short little fat man across from me
-is a picture of pleasantry.
Written by
Johnny Zhivago
805
   Dhirana and Md HUDA
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