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About Surabaya

Walk slow, talk soft. That’s my trick. They smell fear. Like dogs. Or desperation. I’m sittin’ there, thinkin’. *Why’m I even here?* Then I spot her. Leanin’ on a lamppost. Skirt’s too short. Eyes like Therese’s—searchin’. “You don’t know me,” she’d say. Like in the movie. But I see her. I always do.

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But then, outta nowhere, one of the fire jugglers trips. He falls right into the crowd! People scream, and I’m just standing there, mouth agape. It’s like a scene from a movie. But he gets up, brushes himself off, and keeps going. I’m impressed. That’s some serious dedication.

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