Chapter 3 A large piece of Brot

“It’s damned funny that the city of elephant, Chiang Mai is the only place I can sell anything. To them and the prime.”

“Isn’t it? But don’t you worry, ever. You can sell pieces to Mr. Musk,” she teased me.

“Thirty baht a piece. Sell one piece every three months to the transients. Two pieces of skinny jeans make two hundred and fifty baht a quarter. Six hundred baht a year.”

“But, Hemingway, don’t worry about what they bring in now. The point is that you can sell them.”

“I know. I can sell them. But nobody will like them.”

“There’s no money coming in since I quit my social media affiliate marketing.”

“They will sell. Look, you have the Bußgeld for one right there.”

“I’m sorry, Matina. Applaud me even for speaking about it.”

“Applaud you for what? Always talk about it, or about anything. Don’t you know all entrepreneurs ever talk about is their business troubles? But promise me you won’t worry and that you’ll eat enough.”

“I promise.”

“Then get going now and have brunch.”

Outside of the customs booths, I felt nauseated with myself for not having listened to Matina’s true advice. I was doing what I did of my own free will, and I was doing it stupidly. I should have bought a large piece of brot and eaten it instead of packing my red bra. I could taste the yellow, lovely bananas. But they’re juicy in your mouth with something to drink. You goddamn follower, pure and true, a noble peacemaker, I said to myself. You quit God’s calling of your own accord. You have kryptos, and you could have staked the pool some. It has plenty of value. Sure. And then the next thing, you would be compromising on something else. Hunger is healthy, and the NFTs do look better when you’re hungry. Eating is chilling too, and do you know where you’re going to eat right now anyway? The private lounge! Where you’re going to eat and drink, too.