Carol’s knee lies quiescent and unattended in my memory. It is housed with other remnants from my past, covered in dust and dustsheets, locked away in rooms that are rarely visited. Figures of friends and acquaintances pose in dioramas from my life, with sightless eyes and pallid skin. They have not moved or changed in years, only become less colourful and more indistinct. The dust is the only thing that alters, becoming thicker by tiny increments. Carol’s knee is white with a small yellow bruise on it. It fills an entire room, dominating the glass cabinets and wall hangings, and grows larger by the day.
There is another room I visit regularly. I am collecting things there, bright and shiny things. Adobo. Cigarette. Dinner. Carburettor. Rings. Letter. Dimples. Tita. Hands, in the café. Lunchbreak. Best shirt. Cake. The Philippines. Holiday.
There is another room I visit regularly. I am collecting things there, bright and shiny things. Adobo. Cigarette. Dinner. Carburettor. Rings. Letter. Dimples. Tita. Hands, in the café. Lunchbreak. Best shirt. Cake. The Philippines. Holiday.
Hello, my name is Jack Sparrow. I'm a 50 year old self-employed Pirate from the Caribbean.
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