Sunday, October 16, 2011. I was an impotent, sad excuse for a human being; a quivering runt, most likely abused as a puppy; a slug recently prodded at with a salty index finger. Vishal, who had been belaying me for the last two hours, yelled up at the withered ball I had become. 8220;So what do ya wanna do? 8221; Vishal asked.

Sunday, October 16, 2011. Amid the crowd of the second story bar, the gypsy girl danced until the moonless sky was at its darkest. Behind her a pit bull man watched the curve of her back, following it as it bent and arched to the music. He took gulps of the lukewarm lager in front of him and then inhaled a long drag on his cigarette. His bottom lip was still moist with alcohol. Minutes before, maybe hours, the gypsy girl had walked in. She had been dancing the whole ti.

Sunday, October 16, 2011. 8221; Then the clouds move off somewhere else, giggling at their own mischief. At the wedding set in the city gardens, neither the engaged couple nor the guests knew what the clouds in the distance would become. Apprehension breathed from one body to another, all trying to ignore our basic instincts that tells us that the weather will provide some sign as to the future happiness of the couple. My narration finishes here, but the story has many more parts to be written.

Tuesday, August 30, 2016. At twelve years old the boy was to become a man. The father said nothing about what the .

Sunday, October 16, 2011. This is the treehouse I built for you, where I wait for you now, watching the sunset in the distance. The text, even more so. What I wanted to create was the treehouse itself.