Wednesday, June 06, 2018
In the workplace, there is no desk in the empty office, nothing. In the other two offices, there are meetings of men in progress round the desks. So can't work there. I have forgotten to bring even a basic notebook and pen or pencil, so I won't be able to work here. Back into the street, beside a very wide road, more than eight lanes, possibly twelve or more. Not much traffic though. I meet the king at a bus stop, a famous actor, recognise the face. I'm not sure if it's Leonard Nimoy, or could it be John Cassavetes? But he's in a bad way, tall but stooped, dirty. The back of his parka is filthy across his shoulders. I will help him to cross the road. He leans on me and we set off to cross when there's no traffic. It's a very long way. We haven't reached the other side, haven't even seen it, when he decides he wants to go back. It's a bright day. The concrete looks more like the expanse of a car park than a road, it's so wide. As we're about halfway back, a small, odd vehicle is approaching from the wrong side (our right). We will have to be careful. But its course is wavery, uncertain.
Saturday, June 02, 2018
When you cut one, the juice looks like coconut milk* and dries to a white powdery residue on the knife. The taste is truly bland. In the Philippines, they peel and boil them, then eat them as a sweet, dipped in sugar.
* The photo is not showing the coconut whiteness of it. Something wrong with the colour balance.