13. The truffle pig

‍

After the final ball of the day was bowled I walked away, walked around. Tried to find somewhere to end my sobriety. A puppy sat on the road, so cute I assumed it wasn’t a stray, but it was. It looked like the puppy from my dream. I sat with it and gave it all the water I had. Pouring it into my scooped hand as it drank. I was the typical westerner being sucked in by the way life, but I didn’t care, I love dogs, stray or domesticated, filthy or clean.

I found a bar and got that kingfisher in to me. From anywhere between 5% up to 8% it says on the side.

Two men walk in, the odds are slim. Two Aussies. That’s when I met the big fella, that’s when I met the truffle pig. I called him the truffle pig cause all he cared about was getting pussy.

“What are you doing over there yelling? Come over here!” he said abruptly.

To a shy recluse (when sober) like me, sometimes it pays to be abrupt. The truffle Pig and his mate; who spoke like Tim Minchin and seemed just as kind, grew up as neighbours in Adelaide. They had just spent a few days in Dubai, where his mate Tim lived with his two kids and wife. A job for the government, I didn’t ask what because who wants to ask that?

We drank and spoke in a bar that played trance music and cricket on the tv. The aircon was set on 3. The truffle pig had glasses with thick black lenses and a red shirt on and his head was mostly buried in his phone on WhatsApp. Messaging girls from Africa that he called his girlfriends. The more I think about him the more I grow to love him. He showed me photos, a black goddess with a body filled of nectar sitting by the pool. The truffle pig smiling with pride as he has the phone pointed at me. Speaking to Aussies was a breath of fresh air. Although the music was so loud we could hardly talk. The truffle pig had been married three times. The first one lasted a week. His mate flew back from Dubai but he said he was flying back anyway so didn’t mind.

“I think I broke some kind of record” said the TP (truffle pig).

He was seeing another girl and showed enough nobility to tell his fiancé a week before the wedding. She gave him an ultimatum; leave her and have the wedding, or call it off now.

“Ah fuck it, we will have the wedding,” said TP.

A week later it was done. The second wedding was an Iranian.

“Just tried to do the right thing”.

The third was a girl from somewhere, and three to four years ago, she left him. Poor TP.

He told me a story, of when he was in Africa,

“Cunts think Africa is just cunts with machetes at your throat, I'm tellin ya, it’s the best place. The chicks there are twenty years behind and don’t even want money, they’re just happy that you're kind, they’re in it for the long run!” he said, whilst ordering a burger without the bread. “They melt the butter on the bread and shit. I just want what's in the burger, not the bread” then continues his story,

“I went on a date with this African bird and when I got there she was drunk, which usually is a good thing but her eyes were all over the place. Then as we sat there a French cunt came over and tried to chat her up, I let it go for a while then eventually I said, ‘righto cunt fuck off this is my date’ and he left… She was drunk, but not too bad, I thought I could still fuck her by the pool later. Then she asks me, ‘Can I go get that French guy’s number’ and I knew it was over. So I want to leave but the food comes out, so I think, fuck it, I’ll eat this and then go”

He gets his burger in real time, which does come with bread and starts eating it.

“Now the French bloke, sits at the table with us and they’re talking and I'm just sitting there eating”

He holds up his burger patty, “Look at that, they’ve crumbed a lamb burger, never underestimate the Indians ability to fuck something up” Then he continues his story.

“Then the French guy says something racist. I dunno what he said, I don’t even think it was that bad but his English was off so it came out worse. So now they are arguing, she’s leaning over the table trying to fight him. Throwing punches and then threw her drink over him, some of it went on me. He left and I got up to go to the toilet. I said to the lady ‘look, this bitch is crazy, is there a way I can sneak out?’ So I paid what I bought and left through the kitchen and out the back door. Then the next day she is telling me she wants to meet up! It was glorious.”

We left that bar and the TP and his kind mate were nice to be around. If you are traveling to India and have Indore on your list, don’t be too stingy with ink to cross it out. The beer is expensive and the streets busy. The eyes of the locals are lighter thanks to some Persian blood, but the more golden the brown the more they look as if they want to kill you. I walked through the markets and get looked up and down. I smile back, they continue their snare. I feel my pride boil to an overflow and I want to walk up to them and ask what their issue is. I want to punch their disgusted faces. And I could you know; this right hook could get five of them down. But even a pack of hyenas could take down a single lion, fuck, even a billion ducks could kill a man if they wanted too. But life’s a mirror, sure. So maybe I just need more sleep. I had my first bout of home sickness last night. Crying whilst looking at photos of my dog. When you find yourself pondering into the fearless past. It’s a necessity to use it as awareness; that this moment, riddled with emotions, will also be nothing but a beautiful memory you wish to relive. I wondered, wow, I threw it all away for this? cashed in my chips to be alone in a country of a billion. But I've got you, reader, and I am someone I guess, a writer.

but anyway, back to the truffle pig and his kind friend. Every place we walked into was the same as the place before. Loud music, cold, and expensive beer, but most importantly no women. We sat, and I played pool against the kind friend. I suck at pool and he beat me, I tried to take it serious but my talent really didn’t allow my ego to. They wanted to go even though a fair few girls had walked in now.

“I'm gonna try the dance floor” I said,

I walked over there and let it all out. Gee whizz the energy stuck in my lower back fell straight to the soles of my runners and I was moving like a horse’s tail. The two boys, the TP and Tim Minchin walked out and waved goodbye. I didn’t get their numbers and they didn’t get mine cause we are Australian. A beautiful girl in a lilac dress danced. She had braces and the body of a saint. They all wanted me. They wanted me, the man in runners and shorts and a large shirt with a hat on. I sat at the table and bought another drink. The belly decided it wanted to fall out immediately. I had to walk past their table. They were going to know the disgusting human necessity I had to partake. I walked in. Let it out. Walked back out with pride and they were gone. The love of my life had left. I walked home, drunk. I fell asleep, hoping Ralph would come to me in my dreams again.

But he didn’t.

Not yet anyway.

‍