Shachendra popped up at Tekka after the KV lunch—rasam, iddly in sambal & plain vadai & yoghurt. (Light supper without fail!) On his side same everyday $3.50 lunch for the pastor, from the Chinese lady’s stall along from Mohan. Man was due to fly out tomorrow, Delhi-Kathmandu round trip, $1.2k, did he say? As suspected, despite the stretched finances, the pastor forked out for whitening creams, an indispensable part of the performance, like the shirts, trousers & polished shoes. EVERYTHING THAT HAS BREATH / PRAISE THE LORD. Well, certainly fitting within those walls: temp controlled, secluded, not the merest spot of colour. All yellow. Oh! Another white, unnoticed, just got herself outta the place. Fattie with tee still clinging uncomfortably 10mins after her entrance. Deep blue polish left; right was hidden. Subtle ash shoulder length. No! Even a single shot weak café—N. O. Not at half the price. ($7.) Get the holy FFF outta there, Bud. Pronto. Haven’t even mentioned the apple pie country dribbling & roller-coasting by turns from a hidden speaker. Low volume; perhaps three speakers strategically placed at different heights delivering the omnipresence that made it seem like the voice issued from the floor as well as the walls. Burbling blurred lyrics perfect for these kids playing catch-up with the imposed lingua. You would not want any clarity from that material. (Remember the disappointment back in the day learning the lyrics of fave pop songs?) Dungeon black COLD SKULL thought he was walking the wild side. Would it be clear to every single bod there in the chairs they had a renegade in the corner grousing like all fuck? These long faces emerge willy-nilly, impossible to hide, no dice sangfroid. Coming back from the bar IT’S A MIRACLE WE CAN BREATHE carried a dove & dawn sun on the front, by the looks. Ya, sun behind the birdie, crinkled ground beneath. Google Lens would give the brand, designer, cost & nearest outlet in an instant. Wondrous. Eurasian girlfriend rocked up, not long outta the States. Didn’t appear to have been mauled over there, trailing placid good time vibes only. Austin had turned funky cool in recent years, a news-report had it; not what one would expect in the lone star. China girl might not get it in the neck in those parts right now; like San Fran for safety. One would assume the lord’s dove was a compatriot, hailing from those parts, pentecostal at a pinch, that would make sense. Only mid-20s; from behind fella mighta guessed decades older. You know this number. Someone like you… Sometimes it hurts to say… Starbs gave that one pretty regularly too. Imagine the dosh for the outfit concerned, if someone was tallying the numbers properly. Maybe they pay for rights and then no limit; might be the case for that lullaby. You don’t mean to condemn. Only the spruikers & boosters, overflowing with the gooey matter both ends. They gotta get the crosshairs. God’s own prosperous thinkers. Them you’d round up from their ranches, condos & fairways, stick ‘em in a gulag and press-gang for public works. Alamgir had also heard the whisper here of the burning of all the blue bin recyclables. Four-five years ago it hit the papers; silencio since. When one of the lads approached leaning close the first thought was he was gonna ask whether you had made your order, sir? Boy, you don’t know how lucky you be! Mellower gets it bang in the bullseye. Victoria-Middle corner; ignored the first ten years. Polished concrete floor, wooden features, the scores of hanging lights rationed lately with the costs. On the walls the cartoon figures ala Homer (Simp.) would doubtless be known to most of the crowd.
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