Kazem wanted to ask if Kumpee had said anything more about
their dinner engagement with the senator as an effort to establish its
veracity-a senator they called uncle as a disingenuous ploy to bring
them into a greater stratum of wanting and needing, winds of higher and
more pleasurable velocity.
The mosquito buzzed around Jatupon's blackened eyes and then
around the opened bottle of glue. With his wings he made a pejorative
click the way people use their tongues when they shake their heads.
Jatupon was not glad to see him. He did not want the condemnation. At
first this glue-begotten ride had been an enjoyable thrill. The
newness of a newborn was at that time gleaming out of his orbs. He was
like a child in wonder of himself flossing his toes in the grass,
having his hair massaged by the winds, and chasing god in the clouds.
Now the mosquito was here spoiling the solitary party of one which was
steadily waning.
The mosquito greeted him in English. "Hello, little man." He
thought it was Kumpee at first but, to his knowledge, Kumpee didn't
know any language apart from the strident sounds of Thai and was more
in favor of using the word "monkey" in place of "little man.
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