60. Thin Crazed White Girl
The same word, written over and over, all over the hotel bedroom wall. And he was gone. In another version of this story I apologised to the hotel staff, paid for the paintwork, got in my red car, drove to Jo’burg and flew home alone and none of the terrible happened and neither of the brilliant either. There was nothing to stop me. He’d likely be dead but what did I care. I’d tried. He and his toy guns and broken foot and magic marker could meet their fate and I’d be safely on a plane out of there. But that isn’t what happened. We found him on the banks of the Zambezi trying to get a lift…
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