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Essaouira West Wall

HYDROGENATED BOMB

I watch Steve munch a handful of crackers. My face feels tight from running.

“Wanna cracker?”

“No thanks. I don’t have an appetite.” I’m feeling self-contained. I set my hand on my chin, pull my skin.

“Whatcha thinkin? Are you OK?”

“Actually, I’m fine.” I do feel fine.

“No you’re not. You look sombre.”

“No really, I’m fine. I feel really good. You wanna know what I was thinking? I was watching you eat your handful of crackers. I was thinking that some day in the future they’re gonna outlaw crackers because of the hydrogenated fats. But I didn’t want to say anything because I bought those crackers. I’m not your snack manager.”

Steve chomps down on his last two cracker bombs. “You should put that in a science fiction story. There’ll be cracker smugglers. It’s little facts like this that are worth reading. You can always toss in Fat Boy being a hydrogenated bomb.”

* * *

“You know, I’ve rediscovered that I love reading.”

“Reading’s cool. You need this pool from which to draw from.”

“Well I always have this feeling that I should be constantly creating something.”

“Reading is creating. You’re creating your brain.”

“I still feel guilty, though. Like I’m indulging myself.”

“It’s part of the process, Lady. Actually going to see art is part of the process, listening to music is part of the process, talking to people is part of the process.”

* * *

“I have 93 years of dead bodies in my brain,” says Smith.

“At least you honor your family when they die. You think about them. You keep them alive.”

“Oh I do. I use them. I use their little corpses as stepping stones.”

Essaouira Beach – View of Mogador

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