the polaroid

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It’s 00:29, with 2 days to go.

I’m running about the place doing petty little things, trying to pull everything together, and all the while my stomach hurts.

It knows we don’t have our stuff in order yet, we are not quite ready to go, there is so much left undone, but alas! we have to go eventually.

The polaroid camera is with me, taking final pictures of my friends and me.

One friend, one photograph, click – next.

It’s brutal in a way.

Not as brutal as my massage girl though (I forget her name). I walked in with the polaroid in my hand and asked for a picture with her, one for her, one for me.

Massage parlor in Beijing

She said no, and I stood there stupid.

But didn’t we use to have so much fun?

“Well” suggested her boss, overweight and nasty as only massage parlor bosses can be, “how about you get yourself a massage instead?”

Definitely among the last things that I was looking for tonight.



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