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Updated: October 22, 2025
At this moment his life felt more replete in purpose since he was in the present moment, casting away the hopes and anxieties of the self entirely. Nawin breathed out, smiled and stretched as much as he could without touching the Laotian, content and relaxed in the inconsequence of existence.
I counted more than a thousand figures in one compartment, and observed with admiration that the artist had succeeded in portraying the different races in all their physical characteristics, from the flat-nosed savage, and the short-haired and broad-faced Laotian, to the more classic profile of the Rajpoot, armed with sword and shield, and the bearded Moor.
This, above all, was why he had subconsciously chosen to come by train. It was an instrument for illustrating his impermanence so that he might accept that this was the natural course of all things even if human intellect knew that nature was vile and that this impermanence should be otherwise. "Sorry, I got carried away," said the Laotian to no one in particular.
That which he was hearing did not seem to come from himself at all but an invisible presence with the utterances of his own voice projected like an actor off screen, and the Laotian an alien performance put in front of his face, so as to be more real than any real being, a surreal and magnificent presence, magni-real in a sense. "Until it comes.
It is an exit we walk through briefly to join the majority who are thought old by somebody or another. My sister is twenty-one but that too will pass." "Yes, age is a state of mind," said Nawin rather unprofoundly, smiling widely and readjusting his opinion of the Laotian who seconds ago he had pegged as a pachydermatous brute although perceived more erotically for it.
Its reflection seemed to sway and careen in the harmonious bombardment of the pellets of rain. More fluid than reality itself, the reflection would for a time seem permanently unsteady before evaporating entirely. "No, maybe not," he said vaguely. The Laotian chuckled. "No, Man, I'm here just because I got caught in the rain like you did." Maybe it was true.
"Yes unless you want me to have him deliver it to a hotel room. You don't have one?" "No. I was thinking about checking into the Paris Laos Hotel. I saw it earlier in passing. Any change?" "No." "It came to 5000 even?" "Its on the receipt." "That doesn't mean much." The Laotian smiled. "I didn't write the receipt. Did you go up into the monument." "No, just stayed here. What's up there?"
As much as these titillations toward the Laotian repulsed and frightened him and despite a tepid attempt at eschewing his feelings, he wanted the man, like a spellbound warlock whose spells, even when having a life of their own, went contrary to the intent. As abashed as he was by his compulsion to stare, there was nothing to stop him. No one was awake but himself.
If the Laotian did not return he might continue to have the pleasant company of his thoughts provided he held reign over their restive movements and they were directed mostly toward some external aim instead of a constant churning of old redundant ideas and ghosts of memory haunting him with their illusionary palpability as though that which had been could be grasped still.
Nawin shrugged his shoulders. "One in a billion," said the Laotian answering his own question. "Is that a fact?" asked Nawin diffidently for even those limited words had to be found and forcefully educed from him and as such they fell upon each other in a stutter. "Yes, one in a billion." "One in a billion, okay," said Nawin and the Laotian laughed.
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