A Shitty Thing to Write About

It was a bus shelter empanada that made me break that bathroom in Cartagena. Three hours before consuming it, I was in a seedy cantina with my new friend, Atlanta: an ex-army medic and survivor of the Fort Hood massacre. Atlanta’s PTSD had pushed him to the north east of Colombia where he volunteered at … Continue reading A Shitty Thing to Write About

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Kampot Chicken

On the way to Kampot, I discovered the grossest toilet. My initial reaction was a squeal. And I thought I was getting used to squat toilets. The room was dark, puddles of water lined the floor. The toilet was little more than a bowl, no cistern, no hose, no toilet paper. No sink. Nothing. Just … Continue reading Kampot Chicken