Shower

Letters from Cairo and Nairobi this morning. I waited until Craigs brought breakfast (your eggs and toast sir, and the newspaper) then I sat up in my bed and sliced open the envelopes.
Seems that Stevens has Malaria.
If Stevens should perish I'll really not know what to do. He's such an important chap, such a light for so many to follow.

My bedroom stinks, as does my breath. It's likely my bedroom stinks because of my breath, but I can't be sure because of course I can't stop breathing for one night to see if it still stinks. It could just be the skin you see, it could be the skin which smells so goddamn rotten.

My goodness, what to do, what to do? I remember living with a girl who had delicious legs. It was fine to be out and about with her, felt like the winner. Haven't been to France as a man, pleasant memories though of childhood visit. What's for tea? Where do you stay? What did you say?

Poem moved through last night, I can still feel the traces of it. I think it filled the cavities, I wish I had recorded the moment. Must do something more, must find a way to link in the darkening fantasies. Feel like must shower in sparkling style. Hmmm......