(no subject)
Dorian painted a tatoo on my face. He conceived the design shortly before he prepared the dye, then he worked steadily and silently. It looks like bike tracks, starting at the edge of my left cheekbone, riding up and down the ridge of my nose and stopping under my left eye. It reminds me of those thirty miles from Baños to Puyo, it makes me think of the peace I found in a tiny country shaped like a laughing calavera.