I am no longer enjoying my stay at the Hostel of Youth. In fact, I am not even sure it is a hostel of youth. It is this man. This white man, which is fine, I have many white friends, but I think he’s American, too. Such bravado. He speak to me last night and tells me to shut my phone. How come he do this? Who is he, I don’t know him, to come and tell me to shut my phone. Maybe I talking with my father? Or, sister? Or, brother? How far is he from home? I am many many many miles from home. I come to DC to become engineer. In my country I am world famous engineer. Not world famous, but in my village I created a useful reservoir of fresh water which regenerates by solar energy. I am big pimping in my village. I can’t walk down the dirt road without someone saying “Rashdi! You make it rain, but for real!” Which is funny, cause, you know, you can make the water splash on you — simulating rain. Not the American “make it rain.” No. For creating a water source that has stretched the lives of my village for at least another hundred years I make the equivalent to a Mexican who makes bagel and cream cheese on the lower east side.
He also old as shit. Making noise with his shoes, and he has no flip-flops! Ah! He walk in shower with bare feet! C’mon, man! I wouldn’t walk bare feet in this shower. Not if Shiva came down from heaven and say “Go in shower.” Fuck that, Shiva. He’s not human, I don’t think! He look serious at his laptop computer. All night he typing. Maybe he encrypting. Maybe he Snowden. Maybe I report him to NSA: bye, bye strange white man! With your two shoes, but neither of which are flip-flops. Maybe I put a snake in your shoes. Or, a scorpion. I walk by his computer one time. I trick him, he thinks I am going to up for stretching, or look out the one window (in this shit-hole room), but I trick him, and I am looking at his computer, and I see a whole big story and one sentence it say “If he eats another chip in bed I am going to put an army of ants on his sandals.”
You believe that? For a tiny bag of Fritos!