Sunday Afternoon

What do you do? Fine - I'll mention other things, In Jo"burg, the expats were bored - went to a roundabout and drove around, disgraceful, don't you play any sport? Not even couch-rugby? I used to race go-karts, play tennis, chase the girls, even in winter, oddly in autumn; I'm a chess player, bunch of nerds, no wonder sometimes I'm a man of few words, expletives. And now - I travel, write homily on Koh Samui beach, with vacant-eyed Nesbo just out of reach, writing is a lonely job, like waiting to die, you'll find out - no matter how far you may fly. Nesbo had just committed another repetitive crime, while I was still battling with endless rhyme.