The Pure Life of Dreams

July 21, 2025July 31, 2025

Taking Bribes after the Car Accident on the Switchback

Elaine and David were further along the road, on the parallel, hundred of yards below me where the switchback bent round. The road was filled with traffic. They were at a stop waiting for the lights to turn.

From my car above (I was in the Mazda) I watched them set off only for the BMW in front to slam on the brakes. Elaine had to brake hard, so that their black Highlander was only inches from the BMW. The car behind them was a monster truck. It also slammed on the brakes. The monster truck was raised high because of its monster wheels, and its bonnet covered the back of the Highlander when it came to a halt.

The BMW in front set off once more. And before Elaine could start the car up, the monster truck set off. At first it tried to round them on the inside but when that was not possible it drove over the Highlander, climbed the roof and came down on the other side, rolling over the Highlander’s bonnet before it pulled away.

I looked down with horror, but the Highlander did not crumple under the weight of the truck.

At the loss adjusters I tried to explain what happened but really I needed more evidence.

‘I got the number of the truck,’ said David. He held out the paper plate that he had used to write the license number on. I guessed the insurance company had tracked the address of the truck’s owners after they had driven off without stopping. But he hadn’t taken pictures so he could only explain the damage.

‘The frame of the car was cracked.’ I’d seen how the frame had split under the weight of the monster truck, but it would difficult to associate the damage with the action of the truck.

The loss adjuster stood behind a clean light brown counter in his office as I tried to pitch in that we did not have a photograph. The owners of the truck were with us. I thought they were rednecks. They stood behind us awaiting their turn to explain.

‘I was not there, but I could see from my car which was higher on the series of switchbacks,’ I said.

I tried to describe where the accident had happened. It was on Chain Bridge Road, but I couldn’t be sure. After I spoke, the rednecks approached the counter.

‘Do you have the green blanket,’ the loss adjuster asked the younger man.

He must have been around twenty-five. The man handed the loss adjuster a smaller green placemat the color of olive. I assumed it belonged to a dining set.

The loss adjuster was taking bribes.

Photo by Jose Rodriguez Ortega via Pexels.

June 24, 2025July 31, 2025

The Blue Ink Woman

We’d split off from the main group of students, myself and a scrawny woman with lanky black hair who looked like she was underfed—a thin woman with the reedy body of a bird.

The two of us had gotten separated from the others when we were searching the restaurant that we’d booked—when we’d taken a path into the medieval quarter of Paris thinking it might be there.

When the whole group had first gotten lost I’d gone into an Irish pub to ask directions and the people in the pub had told me it was the other side of town. I walked out and down the steps to join the group outside to give them the news.

It was then that I saw a bundle of notes by the side of the steps on the ground. I picked the notes up and saw that it was a bundle of 500 and 200 Euro bills.

“What shall I do with them?” I asked the others.

I wanted to hold onto the notes though part of me felt guilty. No one would know if I held onto them, surely?

“You could ask inside?” One of the students responded.

So, I went back up the stairs and circled the bar to ask the barman. The bar was a small room with dark wooden panels, and quite old fashioned, but the barman was not available so I didn’t wait. Besides I felt like I was in enemy territory, the place being Irish and all.

I came back outside and that was when the scrawny woman and I split from the rest of the group to search for the restaurant.

We wandered down some dark brick lined streets which had tall walls either side of us, and which were deserted and not a little threatening.

We could have called ahead and cancelled but for some reason we didn’t do that because we didn’t have phones or because it was before the days of cell phones.

Instead we went to the woman’s townhouse and climbed the steps to go inside.

The woman stripped naked in front of me but she wasn’t attractive given her bony frame. Her shoulders were covered in blue ink which glistened under the pale white bulb of the living room.

I wondered if she had a disease or had just covered herself in ink for the sake of it.

“How about we have a bath?’ I suggested.

We went to the bathroom where there was a white claw foot bath tub and we got in under a pile of bubbles from the soap and I lay with my head at the bottom end while she lay with her head at the top.

She held her foot up for me and for a moment I thought to suck on her toes but they too were bony and they had little hairs on them that did not make her toes attractive. Under the knuckles of each toe was more blue ink—it seemed to spread from within each toe—and it made me realise that I would need to clean her toes too if we were to sleep together.

Main photo (recurring) by Lil Artsy via Pexels.

July 6, 2023July 31, 2025

Jungle Trekking in China

I am heading deep into the Chinese jungle on a double decker bus. It is great to be on the road. The bus is packed with locals and I am looking out at thick dark jungle vegetation, taking a picture.

April 14, 2022July 31, 2025

How to Avoid Terrorists

When I got into the elevator at the Castleton, others piled in too. We were stuffed side by side when the doors closed but then the elevator started to shake, then tip, then free fall.

I was standing on top of others so it would be ok; I would be cushioned once we hit the bottom. And the fall was quite slow, the side of the elevator scraping metal against the walls of the elevator shaft.

March 22, 2022July 31, 2025

Quit? Then You Need a Place to Stay and Money

I have quit my job, everything, and am traveling with nothing but the thick dark blue shirt on my back and mustard colored shorts. I am on a boat, I think a fishing boat or cargo boat, with heavy iron doors in the hold which, when slid shut, close with a clang.

The boat is Chinese owned and heavy with the air of grease and dirt from the toil of fisherman and ferry workers. A dim light below deck reflects off dark girders; off the water sloshed across the floor to clean out the discarded catch.

I liked it, liked being back. It was where I was meant to be. Siobhan would never understand. I felt laden with sweat and grease too and it was OK. The rub of sweat clung in black shavings to my collar, to my cloying shirt sleeves and the hem line of my shorts.

When the boat pulled in, I saw we were at Yung Shue Wan and my first point of order was to find a place to stay.

I had not arrived to see Dee. I didn’t want to see her, preferred to avoid her if possible, I just wanted to be back in Hong Kong.

The passenger deck disembarked first, locals disgorged over a shifting iron ramp and on to the pier. And I walked with them, passed newly built single room lodgings lining the pier’s left side. They were constructed with heavy bamboo, frames and doors, painted dark red; they looked rough but good to stay in as a last resort. Plus the rooms did not have much privacy; I could peer in through the bamboo slats, and each had a timer above the doorway that showed the price by the minute.

Further along, there were gathering rooms, also for rent, the same heavy bamboo construction, also dark red. But these included a four person table where you could sit at a window and look out at the pier.

At the far end and now on land, I stepped up to some more familiar restaurants; grey concrete floors, twin tables scattered, two café chairs per table. And right in front of me, at an open café, at their tables pressed together, I saw Oliver sitting with a person I did not recognize.

I cannot believe it, that you are here, I said to Oliver as I looked down at him.

He said the same back.

I knew I looked shabby from the traveling and from the fact that I had nothing on me.

He stood up, and the other man moved over to make room.

Oliver was still Oliver; tall, with short curly hair and a languid style that made him popular with the girls, although now he had a few reddish locks in with the dark.

He buried me in his arms, and I pressed him back in a huge hug. And he even kissed me, almost on the mouth, before he sat back down.

His friend said, You look exhausted.

And I did indeed look weary, tired. I felt the weight of my shirt.

Oliver turned to his friend, don’t worry about him, he has the money.

To make it light I said, I have a few pesetas, yes.

What are pesetas? he replied.

I thought to reply, and so too did Oliver but then we thought better of it.

Photo by Anne Roberts via Flickr