Coloured Sprinkles

On my last night in Beirut last summer I cried. I cried for the war. But mostly I cried for the prostitutes during the war. No one gave a shit about them. As I stared out from my balcony looking out on that beautiful destroyed whore house I cried, not a river, but a sea! I couldn’t bear to think of the night women screaming, with pain or pleasure; I don’t think it makes a difference. They were screaming in my head and I was crying for them with my eyes. I wanted to say IM SORRY!! I’m sorry for you, I’m sorry for this country, I’m sorry that it had to end up this way, I’m sorry I can’t be a part of this place because it doesn’t want me, and I’m sorry that I have to leave you. I’m so sorry!
I should add that I was very stoned when this was happening but I can assure you that my emotions and sentiments were real. Really. I promise. I swear. Ok I don’t swear but I promise.