Trafika Europe 3 - Latvian Sojourn

He needs the money now, needs it with a fatal urgency, whether his brain realizes it or not. I made sure to confirm this as soon as I arrived. I thought the place would be disgusting, but it was only somehow dried up, sterile, quiet. I didn’t experience any revulsion, impatience or rage. I didn’t feel anything at all inside myself, only on the surface. Instead of the torturous spasm of my whole being that I expected, I experienced only a bodily discomfort, as if I were wearing the wrong-sized clothes or too-tight shoes. I was uncomfortable on the white hospital chair; my back was to the window and the potted plant next to it. It looked dried out, pressed in an album, even though it was still alive; I even caught the slightly tangy scent of its leaves and the sweetish odor of withering and decay. A hospital room, a room for death. I’m wondering if I shouldn’t look into the old man’s eyes to see: is he thinking about the end? When I got back after going to the bank, I went straight into the bathroom, undressed and filled up the tub. Afterwards I stood for a long time under the shower. I wanted my body to soften up; it was like some kind of shell had crusted onto me – I know this was just my imagination, but the scrubbing did me good and I no longer saw myself in the fogged-up mirror. Just a huge profusion of bottles in the white steam, little flasks of monochromatic creamy liquids, all in twenty-gram doses for hotel junkies. I didn’t

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