Winter was dead. Not that it made any difference in this part of the earth. Its stale corpse lay drying in the summer sun. I spent days returning home from the prosaic work in the night and watched downloaded TV series having greasy takeaway dinner. Staying late into the night, my sweat-damp thoughts wandered into sleep to return to an uneasy consciousness in the morning under a quiet fan deprived of its life from the routine power failure.
The patterns in life that recurred were lifeless fans, mosquitoes and summer sun.
There was a sea, just a few minutes drive away.
A warm stinking sea.
* * *
I went fishing. With few decaying bits of shrimp as baits. Waited for a long time on the pillar of an old railway bridge. Trains passed occasionally shaking the old concrete with me on it, the rail above and all. Sun went down, leaving a humid, windless evening. Throwing the reeking shrimp into the water below, I too left.
And it rained suddenly. A vicious one at that. It drenched me and the bike I was riding. Rain pelleted its hot engine case turning itself into hot steam.
Steam that reeked of decayed shrimp.
* * *
They were selling tapioca in a small truck. It was just dug out wrapped in the fresh rain-soaked mud. I bought a few and stopped on the way at the fish market to get three sardines. Fried the sardines and boiled the tapioca.
I had tapioca and sardines while the rain continued through the night.
A night that smelt of the first rain.
* * *