14. I don’t know why they call it indore, most of its outside

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White blank page

that sits still

like the placid

lake,

I am sorry

but I must

steal from

you,

throw the

weight in

my stomach

and hope the

ripples reach validation.

I am sorry

but I am using you.

A storm is rolling in. I sit on the balcony typing away as the lightning flashes from right to left. Moving closer with each strike. I am directly the cause of this storm. Reality is reflecting itself to me, I am the creator, I am the projector. To those that find shelter on the dirt beneath the trees to hide from the rain. I am sorry. Yet, the city you live in must take some of the blame. Indores claim to fame, the writing that is 12 foot large on the garden as you drive out, or in to the airport. ‘INDIAS CLEANEST CITY’. Which is the equivalent to bragging about being the best looking down syndrome. Which is a good effort, don’t get me wrong, but I'm still not going to be attracted to you.

Every place I walk in to. The beers are $12 each. I understand, its okay, the town is majority hindu and the price keeps the lower classes out of the roof top bars. Whatever I order, whether it be a Kingfisher or a meal.

They tell me, “Sorry sir, this is not available right now”

So I get something else, only to see another person order what I tried to five minutes later. I sit and eat my dinner and two of the waiters stand beside me, watching me eat. I stop.

“Where you from?”

“Australia”

“Oh beautiful place, beautiful place”

We make distorted conversation and I act as kind as possible considering I just want to sit alone and eat my meal. A man sets up with his electric guitar. I think to myself,

‘Maybe ill have one more after all’ as the mosquitos circle the hairs on my skin.

The guitarist does literally not know how to play. He mumbles words.

“Bill please”

“Bill sir?”

“Yes please”

He comes back with the leather folder and hands it to me,

“Ill pay on card please”

He walks off to get the machine.

There is a 18% VAT charge. 5% service fee. 10% gst. And a few other percent I cant remember. Two beers and dinner cost $55. At this rate ill be back on the tools by July. I give him my card. It doesn’t work.

“I will have to go to an atm”

“Ok sir”

So he follows me to the atm. By this time I am just ready to go home and curl up in the foetal position. I get money out. Pay him the cost and tell him to keep the change. To save me from walking back to the restaurant.

“Sir”

“Yeah?”

“Ah, this does not have a tip for me. You have not included a tip”

I grab the receipt and say,

“Look, see this. Service fee. Percentage. That is expensive”

“But we do not get paid from this sir”

“That’s not my fault”

He walks off angrily. No sincerity in his annoyance to begin with. No curiosity in his questioning. Just sitting there staring at me like I'm a toad on a lily pad at the zoo. Don’t worry, I am not void of understanding. It is sad that this cunt gets paid fuck all but why do I have to foot the bill of his manager, of the restaurant owner who pays him a monthly wage of what my dinner cost. I don’t mind tipping, Today I tipped a masseuse $6. Would have tipped her more if she pulled me off.

So I do hum negative vibrations right now. Tomorrow I leave this city for Delhi and I'll waltz on to the plane. It is a residential area. Known for its cleanliness and its malls. I don’t mind things being clean, although there is still rubbish everywhere and haze in the sky, but who could give a fuck about a mall.

Its not all of Indore’s fault. Sometimes they break me and I refuse to immerse myself into the culture. I sit on my phone in the apartment. Scrolling through porn on Reddit. Extramile category. Actresses that have sex scenes in movies and have real sex. All of it. I sit there, between the scrolls I see my corrupted eyes in the reflection of the glass. You came all the way to India, sold your house and your attachments for the flight, to sit here and watch porn. Well maybe so, maybe no one or no place can fix me but myself. Or maybe, I don’t need fixing at all. The lightning is starting to forken. Like an Irishman cursing. I myself feel a little better having all these words here instead of inside my head. Tomorrow I will wake up a little earlier. Meditate on my impermanence. Practise gratitude. Count my breaths. Stay away from the devils lures and radiate nothing but positive energy. And Indore, its been ok, but when the Aussie cricket team left, so did your appeal.

Love Riley Dyson.

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