The thing on the wall shows pictures, and there are sounds from it too. I can recognize that the sounds are words. Mostly the pictures show the person...who speaks the words, but sometimes they show other things. Linda says the other things are like photographs, photographs which also have move­ment.It is yet another wonder, pictures that move. It is like being where the pictures are made.She is right that I understand little of what is said, but if I simply let the words flow through my mind. She initially pushed me away, but when she didn’t give me back my jacket, I kept walking with her. “I’m sorry about what happened back there.” I said. She looked at me; her beautiful blue eyes were still glossy from the tears. “its..it’s not your fault. It was that asshole.” She said. She started to shiver from the cold. I put my arm around her to keep her warm. We started to talk while I walked her to her house.It took about 30 minutes to walk back to her dorm room. I was freezing, but did not. I raised a hand in thanks and shook my head. I had business to attend to today.“Come, brother. Just one cup,” said Bilal, the young owner of a small convenience store. He’d spoken in Urdu, which I was fluent in. I liked Bilal, liked that he was fresh-faced and untouched by the difficulties of life in the east. He came from a privileged background and instead of going to college, he’d stolen the funds to open up his humble store. His father had wanted him to become an engineer, but Bilal hated. There are God knows how many rooms. She walks me into a specific room. It is as I imagined a large bedroom. To my surprise, the same black man who walked towards me with her when I first entered the mansion. He is sitting on the master bed. She kisses me and then walks up to him. She gets on her knees and sarts to suck his large & fat BBC. I am amazed she can take that thing so deep in her mouth. The slurping sounds are deeply loud. I am sitting there just watching. After 8 minutes of sucking.
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