My man Gene

16.01.2017

I tried to sleep in, but it never works. I got dressed slowly and found a small pharmacy to find something for my burning and itching hand. The pharmacist phoned the local doctor, who spoke English with a strong French accent and who couldn't seem to explain his location to me in a way I could understand. After asking him a bunch of times the same questions, which he never answered directly, he got upset, and I decided to go to the hospital in Kampot instead.

The pharmacist had her own opinion on my finger, she told me I had worms and sold me some pills. So I tried them, hoping for the best.

I tried to take my mind off of it, so I went for a hike. They were shooting a pretty expensive movie at Kep National Park and had blocked off the whole place. Some Khmer guy in fatigues told me I couldn't go. I tried to argue and then some Australian guy with a headset convinced him to let me in. I walked along the empty trail and bumped into Gene, a retired book publisher from New York. He talked my ear off about Cambodia all morning, and I left him at his brother's house at the foot of the mountain. His brother is a missionary doctor in Phnom Penh, doing free surgeries, mostly for children. They see a lot of motorcycle injuries, of course.

As I was walking back home, Gene drove by and picked me up in his gigantic ancient white truck, donated by the US embassy and we went for breakfast. We made a plan to get some crabs for dinner, and I went to the beach to snooze until it started to rain. I slept in the hotel right up until it was time to meet Gene again, we had a nice dinner, even though he spent a good portion of it telling me I needed to either marry some influential person or at least start some sort of career climbing occupation in Canada. Uhhh... I already tried both of those things and they both suck, so no, I think I'm good, thanks for your concern. On the way home the bottom fell off of my "new" used sandals, it struck me as a metaphor.

"Worms"