More than an Eye Sore: The Darker Side of Travel
Sara and I sat down on the patio of a fairly nice café and ordered two Laos coffees. Something in me sparked at the thought of the black liquid. Probably an addiction. I resisted the urge to scratch at my eye, which was swollen practically shut from a mosquito bite received a few days earlier. Over Sara’s shoulder a young busboy piled up some plates. Before taking them inside, he walked over to a planter that held some beautiful orange flowers. Pulling the front of his pants down, he plopped his dick out and squirted six seconds worth of piss into the planter, then flipped his dick back into his pants and took the plates inside. Where’s that waitress with my coffee?


