I pride myself on the fact that I am a mosquito’s last port of call. They land on stones before they land on me. I’ve been to countless malarious areas and walked away unscathed. So why – oh why – would bed bugs find me so delicious in Fiji?
Revisiting the scene of a distant memory can be a tricky business. One is never quite sure, if the ghost is you, or if the place is ghostly. The net effect of this is like wandering through a dream wide awake, very eerie.
“HIV! HIV! – Go fuck yourself!” she said. And then I woke up. Or maybe it was the other way round. Maybe a whore outside my door was actually cursing her punter and I wasn’t dreaming at all, and then, I woke up.
