Satre

I sat on the steps next to the ferry entrance, the moment that the iron drawbridge door descended on the island I was of the ship and in a bus. A larva of tourists followed me at a slower speed with the sure promise of death due to lack of oxygen, squeezing in like a flock of helium balloons, filining every vacant ceeling spot with their heads and the belly of the bus with their ower packed for any weather luggage. Face was aimed for vacant out of the window spot away from meeting any of the trilion eyes, when just in the corner of a mosquito scratch moment I caught, could that be surley, a gay and too familiar a face.. For a moment the brain scaned all the usually useless celebrity gay data from big brother to fashion gurus, to of course find it as useless as ever . Back in the out of the window spot the brain begun to calculate at speed. Face with big cheek bones, fluffed up hair, striped Jean-Paul-Gautier perfume bottle top, with earphones to match in colour, too cool a sunglasses for somone male and not Italian, belonged to my very own favourite gay of all in the world.

Dado?

And just so. Dado answered. Sunci!

Than started the surge of shaken up champagne bottle excitement of silly squealing sounds only once once beloved flatmates can release at one another accidentally meeting in a bus, on the opposite side of Europe to Albany Street where our flat was located years after living together. Cheek kisses where exchanged before the helium head army carried Dado away to somewhere in the back of the bus.

Hvar is prefect for me. I am a member of the only liberary in the country which does not locate its books using a computer and this liberary is the only place I have the use of internet. From 9-19 hours monday tuesday, 9-13 the rest of the days but sunday, and I work for 16 hours most work days so, I have decided to screw internet contact this summer.

Ivana works in ship building. She doesent build ships. Half of her working time is filled with trying to forget the time she has spent working in the retro-socialist office where each cell of the company must do one job each month which they compleate in two days and spend the rest of the month chatting and drinking coffee waiting for retirement. She is staying here on her holliday.

Mario is a gangster. Something to do with drugs mayby.. His last time in prison he was attacked with a screwdriwer to the ear. The day he got out of jail got shot 9 times into the stomach. He also has a metal leg and a limp caused by faithful flirting with fast motorbikes at an earlier age. But he has a handsome face. Black hair green eyes and that kind of hot look street tom-cats have. He is on Hvar with speed boat with plans to relax and enjoy and was taking a bet I may help him, seeing last time he came 4 staffordshire girls turned his stomach butterflies upside down.

And so there we where Nadja's jazz and bossa nova under the stars summer bar. Mario and his boy apprentice. Ivana and I, and Dado best friend, who kept mentioning how exotic he felt for being black in Croatia. Boring everyone with his Martin Luther Ming mood and some long drag about opening the doors for future generations of blacks and there was no point of explaining that no one actually cares.

Sweet smelling Dado looked at the scarred Mario and whispered "Sunci do you think he will be ok with hmmm us?"

Mario the conosseur of guns, pet pigs, girls with huge boobs, stiletoes and plastic nails, noded towards reecentley divorced from a gay marrige free and single Dado and whispered at me more shy than I was expecting "Sunci can you make them go away?"

Ivana was reveling in it all. She has spent years with a little black male fantasy in mind ,and on her first night on Hvar, she got her self a real, life size, beautiful black male. He bought coctails. Her bosoms rode freely and bralss with laughter. Lips pouted red. Tan gliesened in the electic lights of the night. She looked really beautiful.

He was gay.

It was all too tough for everyone.

A proper begging for a Jean paul de Satre play.