The 17^th

My hair is getting pretty dreadful. I called my accountant, Jose Greengold, he told me my dreadlock s were indeed tax deductible. It’s a product of the rainy season, the never ending days when it was too cold to bathe, but your hair is still wet, and salty, interweaving and locking, matting like an unshaved poodle. It is okay though, if my hair wills it, it will be so.

Laissez-faire hair-care.

Went to what was described to me as an “afro beat Garifuna show”. It was at the Red Light, on the side of Airport Road, a one and 5/8^th lane chunky road that connects Sandy Bay to the North Side, the equivalent of Interstate 405. Half of Campanada showed up, various motorized vehicles lined the side of the road a half mile in each direction. I packed in with 5 other people into the most vile of transports, the infernal tuk tuk, I pretended I was a dog and spent the ride with more than half my body outside, dodging trucks and large women. The whole mess turned out to be a karaoke fest, with swarms of people getting high off of the disco and strobe lights and warm beer.

Clean living here, I’ve eaten over 200 avocados, used no soap, cleaned my clothes only in the ocean. I wake up at 6:30am every day as opposed to my previous rising hour of 1pm and I’m on a diet where I only eat things that have bugs in it. They are my food tasters, Hitler had Margot Woelk, I have indeterminate beetles.

Buy the Beetles, Get the Bugs