Last Days

Stephenson and Anne have gone snorkeling and camping on an island that is an hour from here by boat. We're a couple hours north of Phuket. Not sure where really. It doesn't matter. I decided to hang around in this hotel room instead of joining them in snorkeling. I don't want any more boat rides or van rides or old Scandinavian tourists in spandex, bloated and hairy and grotesque.

Gary is far away in Bangkok and maybe I'll start answering his phone calls tomorrow.

This morning the intern pulled a guitar from nowhere and started strumming. Where did you get that, I asked. It came from the sky, he said. I laid in my bed until 1:30pm and did nothing and wanted to do nothing.

There was stale bread and Nutella and I stared at the ceiling and wondered about the numbness that came down like a fog.