on a crippled tree stump he sits waiting. perhaps for a bunny cloud to pass by, in time for him to pluck it from the sky. it appears blue. not as blue as anyone would want to see in a summer escapade in one of the many islands in the pacific. or the carribean. or the atlantic. or wherever bluer seas one would want to find himself or herself or itself seated and contemplating. the sky appears blue, bluer in fact in contrast to the rich brown that spreads the life of this wide river mekong, in contrast to the redder soil of this seemingly wide pakse town at the southern part of laos, long minutes before the border to one big (expanding by crook or by force) thailand.

he waits. perhaps for dandy long legs to walk pass by him, smooth as ivory cream, but not too much as to blind his eyes. inviting seems to be the proper word, ivory-not-too-shiny cream legs inviting him to follow and see what lies beneath.

he caves his hands to cover his face. feeling sweat build up on his temples, he grabs a paper towel and wipes his face. he waits again. could be for a phone call telling him he won the lottery. he remembers an acquaintance of a friend of his local friend who recently won the lottery amounting to 2,000dollars (in conversion) from almost 100dollars investment to play it. lucky. what if he wins the lottery too in his hometown, he could stop working for 2years maybe, but rethinking back, he could not stop working for 2years. he could not stop working for what he has learned to live with. fortunately maybe, he doesn't know how to play the lottery.

he waits. the sky turns freshly-squeezed concentrated orange. a bit darker. add a tinge of ashen clouds and reddish grounds. turning darker. darker. street lamps flicker by the roadsides - barely noticeable. turning brighter. brighter but just enough to counter the building darkness around him.

he waves goodbye to the day, recollects himself, stands, and walks away.

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