at times he gets agitated. it's nothing i say (i say verylittle). it's his own story that does it. memory is an oceanand he bobs on its surface. i worry that he'll want to stop.

but he wants to tell me his story. he goes on. after allthese years, richard parker still preys on his mind.

he's a sweet man. every time i visit he prepares a southindian vegetarian feast. i told him hike spicy food. i don'tknow why i said such a stupid thing. it's a complete lie. iadd dollop of yogurt after dollop of yogurt. nothing doing.

each time it's the same: my taste buds shrivel up and die,my skin goes beet red, my eyes well up with tears, myhead feels like a house on fire, and my digestive tractstarts to twist and groan in agony like a boa constrictorthat has swallowed a lawn mower.