hello my friend. we meet again. the last time was in sri lanka I believe. Yes, in the smoke filled opium den behind Tavern Blue.
I remember you had a white linen shirt and I said I knew a man who could make those for just a few dollars. You said you knew of a woman who could kill that man, steel his linen, and hire the poor migrant workers to make the shirts for less.
I said, "then you've already heard of me."
"Stilleto," you said, blowing thin streams of opium from between your pursed lips.
"Brothabill."
You held out your tan hand and lifted me up from the floor. Clouds of dust and street grime billowed around my sandals as I tried to smooth my skirt.
"Don't bother," you said, pulling me out the door. "you're only going to take it off later."