Monday, late evening. The temperature
outside still flirts between zero and one centigrade. The wind blows hard,
gusts even slightly rattling the double glazed back door. It’s pitch black and
freezing outside. Inside it’s warm, warm in his old couch and warm in his
heart. Dhammika is home.
Happy that he saw the most powerful man
in the US, the Black Man, inaugurated for successive terms. The world will
always have hope, the Black Man assures.
Speak English motherfucker! It’s the
language of the future. Fucking Mandarins will never let you ‘in’ anyways.
Pardon the French, Dhammika is
celebrating life.
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