
Isy tests the edge in his most remote destination yet.
It was a place of forgotten love. Where poets are quoted whose names are now lost. No one went there to win anything. Only to arrange a more perfect defeat. We always drank the big pitchers made from hard plastic. We spent Popeye’s 24th birthday there, and one night, after we accidentally started a melee…
“We should find a bar and become regulars.” Declared my companion, the aptly named Deliliah, as we hopped off our wheezing Fanta orange motor-bike just as a dust storm started gathering across the Mekong. Despite the exposed nature of the riverfront bar, which allowed the dust pellets swirling in from Thailand to start bruising our…