The "G" Word
Sorry about my absence. . . but access to a computer from Guantanamo is limited. . .
They came at night; kicked the door open and called my name out loud. I was in bed, it was a frikking Tuesday 4AM and I had to work the next day, so where else was I suppose to be at!?
They pull out a picture of a dude with a long beard and a towel wrapped around his head, right beside him there was a young lad with a bright smile. I do have to say that he looked like me, or like any young drunk dude hugging a total stranger on a Halloween Night. Behind my Catholic nun dress you could tell that that was my happily drunk smile.
They handcuff me and threw me on the floor; took me out of the apartment and pushed me on the floor again; once we reached the bottom of the stairs I was facing the floor one more time. From the floor of a minivan where I was shovel into to the floor of a cell somewhere in southern Charlotte's National Guard little airport the only thing that I was able see was their black boots. I mean seriously, what happened to those times when a gentleman would offer a chair and a glass of water -not to mention the right to remain silence, a lawyer and a phone call- to another gentleman taken from his castle in the middle of the night?
The shortest distance between two points is a straight line, not quite sure if they knew about that little fact because my flight made a stop in Egypt for almost six weeks before heading back to the Caribbean. While there I didn't get the chance to see the pyramids, but some smelly dudes asked me questions day and night about the guy with the towel and the long beard on that picture. If you want to know about him, why don't you fucking ask him? -was my standard answer, but they were very persistent, like if they knew something about me that I didn't know. Or something that I should've know.
Once I made it to the island of Fidel -but on the American corner, they got me an orange suit and threw away the key.
The next couple of years were uneventful. I had to commute to see the same tired faces asking the same tired questions, again and again, about the guy with the beard and the towel around his head (ask him, motherfucker, not me!!). For a couple of weeks they tried to see if I knew something about a guy with a mustache; I said that the last time I'd seen him was on an old TV clip shaking hands with Donnald Rumsfeld. The question on him ended shortly after that.
In all honesty, what really worried me during that time away from civilization. . . well, from "civilization" if you can call all that shit civilized, was getting this corner of the internet disconnected due to the lack of updates. And that little voice in the back of my mind that kept asking me if I had turned off that light in the bathroom or not. Turned out that after 30 days of no rent, they actually turn the lights off for you. How nice.
But I'm back; or better yet, I was never gone, which also means that I'm not completely back, but my cute girlfriend would really-really like to see a little post from me and I like to see her happy, so there you go, a little post.
They came at night; kicked the door open and called my name out loud. I was in bed, it was a frikking Tuesday 4AM and I had to work the next day, so where else was I suppose to be at!?They pull out a picture of a dude with a long beard and a towel wrapped around his head, right beside him there was a young lad with a bright smile. I do have to say that he looked like me, or like any young drunk dude hugging a total stranger on a Halloween Night. Behind my Catholic nun dress you could tell that that was my happily drunk smile.
They handcuff me and threw me on the floor; took me out of the apartment and pushed me on the floor again; once we reached the bottom of the stairs I was facing the floor one more time. From the floor of a minivan where I was shovel into to the floor of a cell somewhere in southern Charlotte's National Guard little airport the only thing that I was able see was their black boots. I mean seriously, what happened to those times when a gentleman would offer a chair and a glass of water -not to mention the right to remain silence, a lawyer and a phone call- to another gentleman taken from his castle in the middle of the night?
The shortest distance between two points is a straight line, not quite sure if they knew about that little fact because my flight made a stop in Egypt for almost six weeks before heading back to the Caribbean. While there I didn't get the chance to see the pyramids, but some smelly dudes asked me questions day and night about the guy with the towel and the long beard on that picture. If you want to know about him, why don't you fucking ask him? -was my standard answer, but they were very persistent, like if they knew something about me that I didn't know. Or something that I should've know.
Once I made it to the island of Fidel -but on the American corner, they got me an orange suit and threw away the key.
The next couple of years were uneventful. I had to commute to see the same tired faces asking the same tired questions, again and again, about the guy with the beard and the towel around his head (ask him, motherfucker, not me!!). For a couple of weeks they tried to see if I knew something about a guy with a mustache; I said that the last time I'd seen him was on an old TV clip shaking hands with Donnald Rumsfeld. The question on him ended shortly after that.
In all honesty, what really worried me during that time away from civilization. . . well, from "civilization" if you can call all that shit civilized, was getting this corner of the internet disconnected due to the lack of updates. And that little voice in the back of my mind that kept asking me if I had turned off that light in the bathroom or not. Turned out that after 30 days of no rent, they actually turn the lights off for you. How nice.
But I'm back; or better yet, I was never gone, which also means that I'm not completely back, but my cute girlfriend would really-really like to see a little post from me and I like to see her happy, so there you go, a little post.
Jean-Francois was drunk at 8:07 PM
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