We wake up here, now, with nothing more before us. It’s a strange feeling after two days of just one more step. Two more legs of the flight. One more Ambien. Three more hours in Singapore. One more purchase at the airport. One more airplane meal. One more security check. A cab ride, a homestay, a mo-ped. One more meal at Yeye’s. A surf, a shower without soap, and a quiet night out.
The bed’s hard and thin, just softer than a box spring I take it, and my neck offers a chime of complaint on both sides today in the early light. But still, we’re here. The morning’s all clouds and cricket calls and sticky sweat that’s not really sweat, but a moist film on the skin and everywhere. On the tile floor, on the desk, on the door. Humidity is Bali’s blanket, and we, her weary travelers. I want to surf my brains out. But first, a good stretch.
