... Even after repeated washings. All because of a shitty minibus trip from Teknaf to Cox's Bazar. Some Einstein in the back seat decided to bring his catch from St. Martin's island in a bag with ice; however, after 4 hours in the grueling sun on the junk boat across the goddamned Bay of Bengal (my toes are still sunburned) the ice and fish decomposed to foul mush. This fishy sludge attacked the bag with a passion while we jostled and bounced off of the ceiling crammed among annoying bougey dhakanian tourists. My knocking knees gave way to dull, then sharp pains that switched my gasps from air to consciousness. As I envisioned ball-peen hammers striking, our bag marinated. Now we (and those around us) pay.
Posted dated and submitted via fax as the Internet was not with us on April 2, 2005.
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Jamie and Michele have rallied against all popular wisdom and good advice (again). Their visit to the indian continent should provide you with hours (if not minutes) of reading pleasures. Please sit back and relax as they selectively share their entanglements and stories of woe.
