He would sit outside his apartment building hours allowing the privileged mosquitoes to suck on his sweaty body till the tiny bodies swelled up. After the tiny creature’s bodies were stuffed up with the blood from his body and their tiny mind had grown lethargic then he would meticulously pluck each swelled mosquitoes from their temporarily glued positions. Using a small syringe he would insert the tiny needle into the abdomen of the strangled mosquitoes between the tips of his fingers to suck the blood out. When his blood from the mosquitoes was taken out he would spread the sucked-out blood on a small plastic sheet. Dipping the nib of an ink pen to write the promising letters he had been meaning to write to his various girls. Such was the nature of my friend Jim Moris.

After the last sequential break-ups he has been taking refuge in Patpong and Soi cowboy. Sometimes he wakes up hearing the aerobic music in Lumphini park, sometimes among the harmless but reeking black rubbish bags. One fine morning waking up in front of Lumphini park wearing his stained yellow shirt he realized that he had to teach, so he crossed the road and stopped near the Robinson department store in Silom only to stand for a while to locate the direction to the school in Sam Yan. His drowsy eyes were struck by the glaring sunlight Jim thought he would not be able to walk, so standing still to collect his energies near a shrine. There were young men and beautiful ladies folding their hands “waing” to him and this went on for a more then ten minutes, much to his surprise. Wondering why every passerby had to fold their hands to show respect to him, he finally got hold of his senses and continued walking toward the school.