I was drinking my grey tea in a bar in Surabaya when a man took a seat in front of me.
He was a friend of mine. He was an old Bedouin. His face was lined with wrinkles, sculpted by hot winds and desert sands. He told me he had a regret. He loved a wonderful woman, but he hadn’t been brave enough to tell her. Time passed and she flew away. They never met again.
My old friend stood up and he paid for my tea.
Alone with my ghosts, I wondered how to become a better person. My mobile was on the table. A picture of Danielle Sharp on the screen. Exotic scents in my mind. Time to leave. Goodbye, strangers.
