Troubles, tell me about `em. Had a few enough of me own just quietly. This batch must`ve started back in 2004/05 when a bunch of mates and I were living in an old elevated tropical Cat 4 Cyclone coded house in Darwin in the Northern Territory....
I may not truly wrap my mind around this man's story of death and resurrection, his body buried in no-man's land; his torso in Kenya, feet in Tanzania. I listen very keenly, believing every word from his mouth- he is my father!
This is the story about a strange building that young lovers stumbled upon, as they search for a secret place to make out. Things later change the way they didn't expect.
This thing will just pass down the lineage, if they all have to be remembered...perhaps by the fig tree planted by her forefathers, silently peeping through the window as they drink and go, one by one.
When Dalton said on one of his covers, "Because I'm still crying about it." I was like, "Me too Dalton, me too." So yeah. Read at your own risk. :D
This story is dedicated to the friends I made on Typotic, especially: Ejay, Sharmishtha and Samewriter, who allowed me to use their work. Also to everyone else reading it, I hope you enjoy it!