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He also writes things, usually about China. Wake up in a comfortable bed in the middle of a dream. Completely confused about where I am. Look at the clock on my bedside table and remember that I am in the Oberoi Hotel in Mumbai. They bombed it back in 96 and there are still metal detectors outside. Arrived here last night on a direct flight from New York to spend a couple days at the invitation of my old friends and business associates Jarrett and Candice, before we travel together to Bangkok, where they live.
Last night after the three of us had dinner and they went to sleep I was not tired and drank duty-free Bombay-Sapphire-and-tonics with lime and orange slices. Video called a couple people on the Internet. Ended up sacking out around five-thirty so I only slept for three hours but I feel pretty great. I wonder why this is and consider many possibilities, not least among them that I may still be a bit buzzed. My room is on the eighteenth floor, and I open the shades and stare out across the bay, past a line of skyscrapers on the horizon and out to the Arabian Sea.
It is my first time in India. I have wanted to come here for many years. I check my email: sloppy videos from friends at Coachella saying hello. A photograph of a gallon container of chicken soup I had delivered to a sick friend. Someone sends me a link to a Dick Diver live video from a record store in Brisbane. I listen to the video and sit in a comfortable green chair and look out the window and watch the movement of the water. On the table next to the chair, there is a small red bowl filled with water and two rose petals.
Sweet mystery of life. Put the bottle of gin from last night under the desk and the extra bottles of tonic water back in the fridge. Decide to exercise and sweat it out.