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I sit alone, my mind a wild jumble of thoughts that cover the last 30 hours. Tomorrow is another day, and I know I will count each one till my Vietnamese grass-cutting woman labourer returns to me. With my first sip of whiskey, it strikes me that I don't have her phone number, nor she mine, but strangely I don't worry. We will meet again. Soon.
***end***
- COMMENTS
Anonymousover 3 years agoGreat story until he’s suddenly lusting after the cook. How can he tell Hoa he loves her after that? I don’t understand why the character of the cook was even in the story.
Mikosanover 4 years agoVery nicely done. Indeed a very true depiction of literary erotica
