So here I am again in the net cafe on a grungy ole pooter. Not a nice and sleek pooter like the last one I did get when I been here the other day.
On this other one them keys stick. The space bar stick. You got to jook them keys hard...type hhhhhard...to get tings going. Kinda like life in de turd world, yeah.
When I first arrive here I think, eh-eh, what a nice looking place. But on second and turd glance I can see the grunge grinning at me, baring he nasty teeth. And the room hot.
But I ain't complaining, no. Just thinking out loud.
Thinking bout the li'l tings that make a difference between not so good and good and really good.
That make life sweeter or sour-er.
Sweeter like the bottle o' bee vomit I buy yesterday. Neighbour deliver it at my gate, one bottle of golden light honey. She order it for me from a lady who know the Amerindians up the Pomeroon, which is two or three broad rivers away from here.
The honey not too cloying sweet. It just right. On crispy, crunchy toast with tea. Or with banana and crush-up peanuts.
Yeah, li'l things.
Like the thank you card from the 16 year old American gyal we give a gift to the other day. Who woulda think that a teen would send such a lovely card.
And the snail mail that I get today.
So when I done here, I gone home to sew again my lush wall-hanging, and then shower and write a snail mail too.
Darn. The net cafe hot. The grunge on the key board grinning at me. I ain't got my pooter back.
I better think more 'bout the li'l things I got to look forward to.