The Thursday Thief. Part Three

(Roberto Matta, "Eva Valliante" - 1991)

I wake-up hanging in the same place. A little more groggy. A lot more pain. And thirsty as hell. I look down at the bruises tatooed across my body. Holy fuck, I think. As I start to sway that magic African cloud gets kicked back up within me like desert sand on a windy day. I get light-headed and the room begins to spin in strange patterns. I catch a glimpse of Godswill doing situps in the corner. He swings his fists each time he comes up, like a swimmer up for air. I’m suddenly struck by bits and pieces of the days that brought me here. Rumours of a powerful man with a quick left and a sweet tooth for twisted games of chance. And an unrelenting desire to test my luck. I sway deeper into unconsciousness and dream of peanut-butter kisses and poetry.