He’s got a Henry V haircut, Bong K.
He sits on the edge of the double bed.
I’m back a bit, twisted around, fully on the bed.
It is a big bag of sh*t she gave me, the Bong Thom.
But it’s no good.
That’s what Bong K says.
He’s busy with his phone.
You sure it’s no good, I ask. I think it’s good.
I can’t comprehend that the Bong Thom, who I’ve never had much to do with until now, would give me substandard ‘medicine’, as Razor would call it.
Clouds of pain, she says.
I met a girl suffering from self harm once. Shed cut herself. Cut her arms. One day she cut her cheek in front of me.
She was borderline.
Borderline personality disorder.
She said she cut herself cos, when she saw the blood, she knew the pain was real.
Same thing with Razor.
The meth is medicine for all the girls in the underworld in Cambodia.
When she blows out the smoke, she sees clouds of pain, that’s what she says.
I love Zane’s song: Blue.
In the clouds, where the Angels sing.
In your eyes, where I wanna be…