I want Luca Evard here to hold me, I want Gauguin staring in surprise, I want Filipa Pereyra looking at me in wonder, I want my mum who crossed the desert, my dad who told me never to turn to crime. I want Parker from New York, the one I can’t remember; Byron14, I want Reina bint Badr al Mustakfi, I want someone to say my name. Gauguin didn’t even remember me long enough to chase after me when I fled from his sight. Filipa will not remember eating noodles with me. I am dead in all but deed. My deeds are worthless.
