Blanca Gomez

I ordered my coffee, twice black (no milk, no sugar) and some banana roti (they didn't have pie) and took a seat. A girl from the other end of the room, Thai, young and pretty, beamed a great big smile when she saw me.

"Happy birthday!" She said. I frowned and she blushed, apologised but studied my face. She was so sure. She pointed across the street. "Yesterday you come to that bar." I remembered that. "You and your friend, you guys told everybody it was your birthday." I didn't remember that.

I finished my coffee and crepe in a long and awkward silence.

"I heard about how you nearly died," Nick, instructor and landlord, said.

"Oh yeah?" I tried one of those nonchalant faces like they did in old movies. I hadn't the faintest clue what he was talking about.

"Stepping on a snake, it was a miracle it didn't bite." I remembered that as well. "There's 27 snakes in Thailand, only two are not poisonous."

"I didn't step on it. It more like crawled up my leg."

"The Norwegians say you disappeared with a group of Russians and they didn't see you again."

That? No, not so much.

(-We Live and Burn in Nights like Beatnik Poetry)