Sane Borders, Sabotaged Ones and Gonzalo Lira
Sane Borders, Sabotaged Ones and Gonzalo Lira LINH DINH [Attaroast in Ubon Ratchathani, 7/1/23] Walking into Attaroast, I was loudly greeted by two lovely baristas, so life is good, no? Not exactly. If it wasn’t painful to walk, still, I’d be somewhere else. Again, they’re playing some jazzy rhythm and blues, with just about every line of every song a horrible cliché. “We were so perfect together,” “you broke my heart when you left me,” “I just want to stay with you forever,” etc. For a foreigner, such idiotic lyrics are easier to pick out, so suit them fine. This article, then, is not written under ideal conditions. It took me at least four minutes to put my pants on this morning. I’m wearing long pants to hide my sores. Some look like wounds. I’m improving, though. My right toe is almost normal, and my left knee is halfway healed. Leaking toxins, my bodily border is still a much-punctured sack, sad. I have just 13 days left on my visa. If I’m still unwell by then, I’ll take a taxi