A Walk

I lusted for a burger and a few tequila sunrises last night; a night resembling American outings of those drunken debouches from my isolated state into a world full of decent expectations. There would be days I would go seeing no one but the book and pen at hand, and I needed these times amongst peoples to feel there was some deeper connection that kept me going...going on. The thing I treasured most in these days of constant woe was not the relationships held between my mates and I, but rather twas those desolate walks through nowhere my mind flourishing a cloud of communications the nature always evolving around me a beautiful thing this fickle life those trees erect tall sprouting bosomy buds the late of Spring and their death forthcoming the eve o Winter. It gave my thoughts moments to reflect on the totality conjugated life, though all in this mast while so predictable these congregation of seasons following the earth rotating as it shall surely one year to the next climate the only pending factor our alienated existences.

I sat at my apartment alone yesterday, trying to write and finding no passion come half past noon need of the hunger no desire in curing the affliction; I asked a friend if he would like to spend some time together knowing he was supreme in giving me direction with all these fragmented thoughts and the folly associated. He says he works at the school til 7 then free once the clock strikes so. I twiddle my fucking fingers away on the gameboy soon losing any desire daydreaming upon my bed a state of meditation of what I want to come out of this expatiate life shifting into sleep a moment's notice. I awake half past five, shower my fat carcass, proceed placing headphones in ears and taking a stroll before arriving to meet my mate. He wears all black, no questions asked, minutes into walking he asks me 'you know why I'm wearing all black.'

I think this a queer question and respond, 'must me Johnny Cash's birthday.'

He allows a small smirk, both cunning laughter and pathos, and says 'My kitten died this morning, this is in remembrance of him.'

I feel odd, wearing my Modest Mouse shirt I bought a week before my cat passed on, purposely buying it because it reminded me of dear Shadow was not even a week past I sat in the vet's with my dear friend the bastard doctor telling me there was no hope they would kill my little buddy no questions asked. I never cared for animals, least the death of animals, but in that instance the sorrow of death overwhelmed me with sadness knowing I told this thing 'It will all be okay' and here I was a fucking liar as those sleek-suited aristocrats took the panther away for one last vaccination into his fragile body. Even with my loved friend I have lost in these meager 23 years, nothing compared to the devastation of this cat passing on and the Catholic guilt in me told me it was wrong caring more for a mere animal moreso than a one of these human entities. I still remember digging Shadow's grave this past summer and breaking down in front of my baby brother as I banged the shovel against the dirt and fell upon the tomb knowing I had failed someone I told I was the savior in his fatal condition; the night before staying up until 5 in the morning not have seeing Shadow in days (cats surely hiding the knowledge death soon beseeches them) knowing it might be our last moment together the couch we sat I gave him my full attention resting on my lap stroking his sweet fur speaking words he could not comprehend ever hoping it would lessen his fucking pain. Was not a preventable failure the hindsight following, thought it still did my mind injustice knowing I deceived the poor bastard on his fate the next morning. Looking into those dark eyes before they took him saying 'It will be alright.' He died, I carry the burden, such is life.


We follow our course of an American outing at the expat bar. Brooklyn, as we drink beer, liquor and they serve these long waited burgers. We eat with our hands the grease dripping onto the napkin exchange of smiles an understanding this is life. My friend, also being a craftsmanship in the art o dark humor, jokes occasionally of his cat's passing. Tis the point of humor regardless the content so dark, it eases the soul on the hardships around us and we laugh knowing not the humor yet aware of the situation. We speak of these waning relationships around us. I had English girl at this exact bar two weeks prior who was mates with him, and he tells me how she is now leaving the country...their encounter of such news is a mere handshake walking opposite directions never to utter another word again. We are intelligent lads to know this is the course of human interaction, and why we consider ourselves our own soulmates. Regardless of the heavy emotions experienced this course of life; ourselves being the only folks we make it through our birth up to the moments we breath that last fatal breath into nothingness dissolving grey apparitions.

We walk around going to another bar and then I go back to his listening to some music and sipping on red tea. We speak of our plans to start a dungeons and dragons campaign and that is the life focuses in our lenses. Such triviality an outside perception might say, but tis what keeps us moving in the perpetuity of normative existence. I thank that white-bearded god jerking his heterosexual hegemonic cock every day for regardless his existence there remains....

something to deviate from the nothing: the nothing for ever seeking a false absolute labeling this meaning knowing such an abstract concept is this.

I walk back from his apartment in the early morning near 2 AM. At my home, such a time is normally not befitting wondering the streets. I bring up this concern to my friend and he says 'you've got a prick,you're white and a big fucker, ain't nothing to worry about at such a time.' I take his word wondering the street knowing generally the direction lies this building I now call home. Took some time this walking listening to those sweet words of Cedric Bixler-Zavala & Kurt Cobain always remembering worst comes to worst...I can take a cab home having my address on the mobile, but I reflect on the world evolving around me and that is my main occupation during this walk. I breath in these gastrointestinal Chinese fumes and care not for the damage forever focusing on my mind's progression within itself finding a peace. We are not storybook characters out of the imagination those patriarchal solipsistic capitalist; rather we are creations of our own doing following a path unbeknownst to most creating a reality we see fit. Life is a beautiful thing,but death is ever more gracious because we cannot predict when that moment arrives and that used to scare the living shit out of me, but as of recent this unpredictability of my final moments, OUR FINAL MOMENTS,
have made this short life all worth the experience.  




Also,
If you want more Punk and less of me indecent ramblings
Here's some Punk so FUCK OFF

Fat American Consumes Sweet Feasts in China Land ~ September 2014

I went to KFC today, and if you asked me back home 'hey Drew care to grab some KFC' I'd tell you to bugger off, but it is quite different here. Without the constant source of carb-heavy fried chicken and french fires, things like KFC are more attractive now because fried chicken is a scarce commodity rather than a thing you eat multiple times a week. Tender grease drips succulent apparitions of meals long since consumed...processed into tender cutlets flushed down transcendent wastes. Luckily, I've only been to fast food here three times in the past three weeks, and although I am too negligent of myself to eat properly, I have great mates here to mate to make sure the one and only Drewkowski eats a king's portion.

Enter September 2nd: My mate David brings me round this gal's Marcy, some expatiate cooking curry, and not any old curry, but some Japanese curry. Do yah wonder what that deliciousness looks like? Here's an image, you bastards:

We sat round Marcy's table for quite sometime speaking of our introverted extroversion (or is it extroverted introversion, we don't really know...the folly of such prerogative terminology). She informed me of Amazon China where you can buy cheap liquor and have them deliver it to your place with the payment option being that of cash on delivery. I have yet to follow through with this option, yet it rests on the table when the time comes; the time should be arriving soon with the bah jiu I've been consuming in the past few weeks. I don't drink that poison often, but when you want to have  a quick, steady buzz...the snow beer and other Chinese beers just don't suffice. I felt at ease in our conversation knowing the expat community in Dalian was well connected and growing at a steadfast rate. What was even more soothing in our handing out was the desert that followed dinner...that sweet sweet tart, and not the sweet tart you pay for on a street corner in Thailand.

A great night indeed spending time with new friends and hearing from my friends who have been here for years and have flourished immensely in their submersion into Chinese culture. Fast-forward a week later following a heavy night of drinking with my friend Dustin...

I wake up early...9:30 am after going to bed past 6 am...and David has invited me to a gentlemen luncheon round his apartment.  I assumed it would not be possible to wake up early enough for a lunch at noon, but my body knew there was no taco bell near by and a feast of David's caliber would certainly supplement my need for the American filth. I arrive, explore the content of his apartment, and he offers me a glass of Arnold Palmer...Allah bless that man. The drink stuck in my throat cultivating soothing embraces the Southern Suburbia left behind. Chris arrives, the first time I met this lad, and I must say he may in fact be the most charismatic, hilarious guy I have met in Dalian...which honestly pissed me off because I wanted to be the charismatic funny dude! I guess there can be more than one smmmmmmmmmh

David, a true American capitalist, prepares food reminiscent of our country's standards. He, as I, praises the Velveeta Mac and Cheese, one of those rare things in China as is the fried chicken. Back home you don't think twice about something so awful and ever so great, but here it is treasured as the tomb of King Tut (though that guy wasn't delicious, cheesy goodness...so fuck him I says). We talked, surely, had some great chats about being an expatiate, what brought us here, and yadda yadda, but like the Chinese, food is more important to us than simple chivalry so let us get right into the feast that was and ever shall be.

That looks rather delicious, yet those of you twiddling eager fingers back home are probably wondering just how scrumptious such a meal appears. Well let me supplement ya'll with my film experience. Zoom in, says I:

All that food on top of a couple of Arnold Palmers alongside some good folks was really too much; I promise I can't stomach anymore. Luckily that is all on the table...but wait there's more if you eat now in the next 30 minutes. Chris unveils the divine peach cobbler and the erections reach their limit stiff as a Burroughs-esque figurine.

I cum on command ejaculating on mere memories the Western food I thought had been abruptly stolen from my person now realizing it persistently continues...it is going on and so am I as I travel through this foreign wasteland complete with expatiate culture emerging feasts of feats thought to be discarded and here they rest on plates before my eager eyes and a stomach much smaller than the lenses' perception.

Another week passes, I eat out, enjoy Korean food on the weekend and Ramen noodles and dry fruit during the week, and Mr. Andy has returned from his vacation. Andy: fabled hero of culinary arts, a Chinese man who hath perfected the art of Western cuisine more so than the bastards on the food network and that feces of folly. I go to Andy's place the following Wednesday for a dinner party with a group of our mates and get the chance to meet him and Shannon. Great lads, I could talk about them for a full blog post, but we all know everyone wants to hear and see that food consumed and the presence of peoples is merely background noise. I told Andy I was ever so excited stuffing my fat fucking face with whatever he offers my way, and his modest self says that he is not the cook these fools imagine him to be. Too modest he was, he made a Western feast that would have my Irish ancestors running to their Christ-ridden hills in fear an Chinese lad could prepare a better feast than he. He tells me pot roast is on the menu for the evening and I am left with contempt. I rarely enjoy pot roast, tis a rare thing for me to say 'oi this pot roast has done me a great favor' Normally, pot roast is like the ugly girl you shag where afterwords you still got laid and don't wanna be an ass so you say 'was good' and then never bring it up ever again. Yes, I just compared pot roast to a shameful one night shag. Glad getting a Literature degree helped me with my comparative prowess. I had to eat what was presented because I couldn't be rude to someone I met for the very first time, but what happened next took me by great surprise; when I took a bite into that pot roast I soiled my trousers with juicy jissom and my O-face shined great lacerations. I fell in love with those moist carrots, beef, and potatoes drowning themselves in tempting gravy and the bread/veggies accompanying the feast beckoned a further call of absolute Western nirvana,,,remembering those days at grandma's kitchen table being surrounded by family and feeling a sense of comradeship while filling faces full of godliness. But don't take my word for it, have you eyes do the judging:

Again, the drink and food has done me all to well and I must end my eating for nothing else could fit this meager stomach of mine. The keylime pie materializes before us and I curse myself for not wearing a diaper.

I could go on and on about how much I enjoyed the company and food over these past few weeks, and speak of my bbq experiences and 'eating out'....oh my....but I am drunk so I digress and hope everyone reading this gets sexually stimulated observing the food through their computer screen...I know I did. I end with a pictorial example of being surrounded by good folks while we all know the only thing we are really thinking about is the feast presented before us.

The Napkin Chronicles I: Dumplings & The Existentialist Threat of The Post-modern Psyche

Only in China can you sit for lunch and get two large beers and a feast of food for around 5 U.S. capital. This place has become my muse for writing & today marks the beginning of my napkin chronicles. Normally when I would sit around waiting for my stimulation, I would toil around on my mobile and either play games or chat on Facebook and call that going on. Here I sit void of communication & the tongue required to converse with those around me; a pencil stares me in the temple and the trials of James Joyce flash before me. I write today because I have nothing better to do...besides playing with my prick which I presume is not socially acceptable in a restaurant setting, but I digress for my need for masturbation. In a moment's notice, arrive the play: a bowl of rice complementing my shrimp and spinach dumplings freshly steaming and emanating greatness with each sniff and snuff. What a magical world is this communist country, says I to myself. I never understood how Joyce wrote a large chunk of Ulysses on mere bar napkins, but it all comes clear to me in this instance; this is life, not a room of one's own, but a mind for own's taking...making sense of these crippled thoughts through the vaccination of fragmentation. I am unwilling to take my view off the napkin or the food and drink presented before me, yet I wonder what the observers in this restaurant are wondering of my existence. I am some white guy toiling away on a napkin using my dreaded left hand and have created a shell around my Eden. A world where I am secluded for language barriers and cultural differences, yet I have never felt so complete in my thoughts and the direction my life is heading. Here, I have finally reached my seclusion amongst peoples. Strange to think I never feel accepted by people's praise of my writing craft and outgoing nature, all the while the hobgoblin of my little mind utters 'It's a trap my boy, these folks care not for you or your art...tis a simple rouse in this game we call chess, a meek chase of cat and mouse.' I nodded in obedience knowing the funniest thing in life being unhappiness.

I now sit in a foreign land totally realizing how hard I try in deceiving myself of any greatness, fearing if I fail, fail again, fail better then it will be the end of me. I doubt not the chemical imbalance of this fractured cortex, that is a certainty and the demons do speak with clairvoyant riddles and yet still I try...try to fail, fail again, fail better. I have released the chains of apathy, though its immanent materialization continues to inspire me in the totality of life. I order another beer; large beer with low amounts of the sauce celebrating my love of drinking and not general drunkenness. I am an American after all God Dammit: we eat, we drink, we fuck. The simplicity of life ever embracing the beauty forthcoming. I tried drinking last night in hopes it would transcend my mind into a greater sense of awareness and bring myself into a written nirvana that lapsed for page upon page...Twas done in vain. Today, hungover with no taco bell in sight persistently wondering how will I cure the affliction of last night's intoxicated addiction. Here is my solution...less greasy but not far off in context or resolution.

The beer settles well in my fractured stomach. I crave my nicotine fix though I have five dumpling, a cup of rice and a few shots of snow beer before my departure marks its arrival. It does my mind a great justice swiftly shifting between the stimulation options resting on the table. No phone to waste precious time searching for an emotional connection forever obsolete. The honeymoon phase rages hard knowing my downfall shall trip me flat on my smug face, but I have friends here and abroad who will help me pick up the pieces so the worrisome nature of what is to come deludes me not. This is the quintessential beauty and it shall remain a passion that will easily continue in this new life of mine.

One dumpling remains in the rubble the ruin my conquest, and a half of a snow beer to wash these remains down my eager throat...my time here almost completed. I feel excitement in what waits for me: cleaning my apartment, doing laundry, the dinner party of comrades this evening, and of course, typing this fickle napkin onto the internet for all to gorge themselves on my long last feast. I consume the dumpling and drown the beer in four swift motions across four shot glasses. The hangover has been grotesquely sodomized out of Gomorrah...my time to flee finally arrives and I anticipate the future unfolding. I carefully fold the napkin and place it near my bosomy breast. The dumplings are far from the greatness of Chinese bbq, Korean sushi (Kimbap as they call it because like the Chinese, the Korean think the Japs are all a bunch of bastards) and of course the cooking of my mates, but it suffices for a time of dire requirement; a moment of quiet desperation where I must dig myself out a hole built yesterevening knowing I shall soon descend back down into that desolate void I call home. I slam the finished beer with ease, say farewell......walk out onto the stubborn street I now call home.

Folly of the Solipsistic Writer: The Ode to Alienation & The Inspiration Forthcoming

Growing up I had two outlets when the blues captivated my broken mental vessel: video games and writing. I still have a love for the gaming, but it was always the writing that made me feel like I was going somewhere despite the context of my words describing that feeling of complete isolation where locomotion has long since been lost in a past unknown to my millennial generation of fending for shit jobs and supporting endless wars and corporate greed. I was an angry kid trying to figure out the justification behind human cruelty that religion and capitalism advocated, and it took me until my late teens/early adulthood to discover the futility in rising against the grain and the writing waned and the alcoholism drowned the ambition in sweet brown amber as I continued to read the classics that got me into writing not able to find my own voice thinking the voice I possessed was a shameful echo of those great that wrote before my time.

I never gave up my passion for writing, but I stopped taking it seriously during my early college years and began fulfilling my calling for meaning with materialism and the search for masculine identity i.e. how much can I drink and fuck in a single sitting...it was all done in vain. The main catalyst in my China calling came when I decided the thing lacking in my writing; it wasn't my own capacity to write something great...or profitable as us Americans say...but more so the apathy of living consumed my everyday life and I was no longer suicidal yet existentialist crises flashed before my eyes no matter what I was doing and in the back of my mind I knew writing was pointless and I outta waste my time doing anything else under the black hole sun. Beckett did a great deal in inspiring me back towards the written nirvana I once found in writing, but even that was not enough to motivate me in spending a few minutes of every day tiring my hands as my mind exploded upon the empty canvas. Even Beckett couldn't give me the push I craved in finding my own voice and once again I borrowed the voice of another in combating the written folly of discovery. I came to China to help me find my own voice hidden in the West, and last night I took my first step since I arrived here in once again being ever so fucking diligent in the NEED for writing.

Last night a coworker of mine, Justin, invited me to his place after work and I first I declined because I wanted to be alone. I have not had a single day to myself since I have been here, and thought that was really what I needed in focusing on my art. I was absolutely correct in my assumption while being positively wrong if I did turn down his offer; we listened to jazz, talked about our love of writing and discussed the works that inspired us to choose a creative passion. I read through the workings of his latest novel and it reminded me the wonders that writing once had for me. The sweet tunes of Miles Davis filled the air as I transcended back to a time when writing and music sand smooth lullabies for a manic psyche that constantly demanded stimulation and could never find peace. There was the peace once again hanging in the blanket of night as the tea was brewing and the kittens ran with nature on the kitchen foyer. We read some Ulysses and spoke of the greatness of Joyce, the man who used Greek literature as a background for the greatest love story of all time. Joyce, Beckett, Burroughs, Vonnegut..all great minds of the 21st century who never knew their place in the structure of society though found writing as a means to bitterly attack the hegemonic institutions that be and discover themselves and humanity through the humorously dark ramblings of mad folks.

Justin reminded me that I didn't come to Dalian just to be a teacher for the rest of my life; I moved halfway across the world because I needed to seclude myself from the bullshit and trivialities of contemporary American life and figure out who I truly am, and from there I once again could have a chance to figure out where my writing could lead me. I claim to be antisocial but I have spent so much of my life trying to win the favors of others and it has been quite sometime since I have secluded myself entirely from others and spent precious alone time away from the vastness of technological enslavement and wasting precious moment through scrolling the facebook...as I am updated on people who I know not who they are hoping in some bizarre way I will better understand myself. My writing will probably not lead me to a noble prize in Literature, or a New York Times Best Seller, or even a bookstore near you coming this winter, but it certainly could help me better understand the short life I've got to spend in this otherwise dismal world and from there figure out what makes me happy. For now it is being there for these kids who need a decent person to look up to and learn from, but I yearn for something greater (since we all know teaching is riddled by politics finding face between authoritarian powers and parents) as my experience molds me into a stronger person willing to take on any feat in the name of personal and societal development. The world may be bleak but its the only world I know so take for what I can gather while the time still persists.

Going on: I will call this going I will call this on; this my ode to alienation, this my creed to the inspiration forthcoming...thanks to all of you joining the excitement and thrills persistently unfolding. Cheers and the likes my friends ~Peeples

The Real White Privilege: Western Celebrity Status, Expatiate Circles & The Flight of the American Socialist Atheist

China has been amazing for this past week; the honeymoon phases strides on full force no brakes necessary the time being. I've found myself lost in translation quite a bit, yet this has not deterred my experiences. A lot has happened in the past week and I could go on and on about it....so I will

I have still yet to do my grocery shopping, though going out to lunch with mates and having the fabulous cuisine of fellow expatiates I have been able to maintain a steady diet aside from my beer/cigarette candy intake (and I've already lost 5 lbs so let's hope that keeps rolling with my exclusive beer diet lol). My smoking habits have been fucking awful...it's rather hard when cigarettes are less than a buck fifty a pack! It also doesn't help you can smoke wherever you damn well please, and you can get to go beers and drink in public. Jesus, it's like a paradise...for the time being (cheers to that). Some things never change though, such as my addiction to nicotine and caffeine. It'll change, or so it goes.

Work has been smooth so no real complaints on that front yet. I love working with the kids and playing games, it really does warm my soul seeing those little ones get so excited whenever I introduce them to a new game. We call this edutainment (and apparently that's a real word according to blogger) over here and the kids go crazy for it and unlike teaching in high school you actually feel like the kids are having a love for learning: these kids go to school all week and are drilled with boring activities and once a week they get to spend time with crazy ol uncle Drew while he plays games with em and continues the love of learning.

This past Sunday, the 7th of September, I went to an expatiate bar with some work mates and this was my first experience of the Dalian night life...I was reminded with full force the celebrity status bestowed upon me simply because of my white American skin. I had been social with some folks before this outing, yet this was my first time immersing myself with the locals and getting pissed with my coworkers. For a few minutes, I drank my long forgotten white russian (which always perpetuates a crazy night I may add!) and soon I had a couple of Chinese girl come up to me and begin to flirt with me. For all of my straight dude friends back in the states, we can all agree this shit never happens with White women. My friends who know me I have plenty of arrogant confidence, but when it comes to actually instigating conversations with women I am normally lackluster and freeze up with where to bring the conversation..which is mostly due to the fact I'm a huge fucking nerd and my hobbies include video games and writing, two things that are normally difficult in striking compelling converse unless the said female in the situation also fancies these nerdy activities. Regardless, I was overtaken with bewilderment that these girls were absolutely fascinated simply because I was an American and the fact I was a teacher allowed for me to talk about myself (something that isn't hard for this arrogant bastard...after all I am writing a bloody blog which is in itself me jerking myself on the internet for all to view). Over here in China, teaching is a profession that is respected much more so than in the states. I still have no game, for sure, but I'm still that funny guy with a passion for writing and apparently that goes a long way. I could go on and on about how cool I think I am, but let us continue on to the following section.

I want to end this post on perceptions. Back home in America, I'm just some white guy, I may be a damn funny white guy who many people love, but there are millions of people who look and sound just like me. Not the case here in Dalian. There are several people I have met who have never met an American before, and they think I'm cool as shit just because they have only heard my accent in movies or television shows, and although many of the Chinese people I've met can barely understand when I'm talking, they are still fully engaged in the stories I tell despite not being able to truly follow along. I see China as the land of opportunity, whereas these Chinese folks think America is the land of the free and their country is oppressing them. What's funny is neither of us is wrong, both countries have their faults and both countries have opportunities. When you're in a place for long enough, you begin to see all that is wrong with it and begin to believe anything will be better. That is one of the main reasons I came to China and surely I will be homesick in due time, but for the time being I am glad I now live in a country where my religion and political ideologies are the norm instead of being labeled as some crazy godless socialist. I also enjoy getting drunk with my American buddies over here because for all of you who really know me, I love to complain about the American government and if I did that with anyone who isn't American, I would lose face and that would be a tragedy within of itself.

I could write about many more things, but I don't want to talk too much about work or anything so I can save some material for my following blog post. So look out next week during the middle of the week as I continue my plunge into writing about myself and my travels.

P.S. I outta take more pictures, but I'm not a picture kind of guy. I promise by like October or something I'll buy a digital camera to accompany my posts, but I don't always keep my promises especially ones made on the internet so we shall see what happens.

On a Bus Bound for Nowhere

It's been a full day in Dalian thus far; due to jet lag I went to bed yesterday round four in the afternoon thus why I reside awake at such an early hour. Yesterday went smoothly with some help from locals who assisted me in getting my residence permit, finding my way to work via bus and exchanging my American cash for yuan (Note: the exchange rate is .16 american dollars for every 1 yuan; Side Note: cigarettes are about 10 yuan a pack so only about $1.60...there goes any hopes in quitting). I haven't done much exploring yet besides going to a great street-side BBQ with Rik last evening, but I wanted to dedicate this post to my bus ride home.

I got on bus 505 back to my house and spent most of the time standing up and quickly realized I had been using my left-hand which probably came off as disrespectful to the locals. It was odd looking at all of the places the buses passed because there were many American 'landmarks' such as McDonalds, Pizza Hut, Starbucks and a Burger King. I also visited an underground shopping mall prior to getting on the bus where I shopped at a knock-off Walmart (Note: all I bought was a large bag of tea powder and a Coke-Cola). The bus came to its final destination where I got off, awaited the following 505 bus and continue on with my journey. All the while, I was quite scared I had taken the wrong bus because this seemed to take an awfully long time. It also didn't help I couldn't ask the bus driver if I was on the right track because I didn't remember which street I lived on and the bus driver couldn't speak English. Usually, I could use my mobile device in assisting me for directions; the holy grail us Americans call google maps. Due to my lack of mobile data, I had to rely on my gut knowing that worst came to worst I would arrive back near Shane school and could just ask for directions; although, this would take me an eternity to actually arrive home. I noticed labour park and at this point the landmark reminded me I was in fact going in the correct direction, and soon enough my stop emerged from the distance. The joy was overwhelming, I went inside and smoked a cigarette while I drank a cup of deserving hot tea.

I promise my future posts won't be as dull as this especially by this weekend when I've ventured from my residence somewhere and succumb to less tiredness, but for the time being I thought a post regarding the language barrier and the reliance on technology was a decent precursor to the adventures waiting this eager American

Cheers Mates
~Drew