Vanity. Ares

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
A
or I, would run off with the cameras and a few
camcorders, even. The tourist's would usually
stand with their mouths open, in disbelief when
Rafaele would scuttle away — he had such a bow
legged run — and I would in turn tell them that
there was no point going to the Police.
Some of the Richer tourists would shrug, as
Rafael bow leggedely run off, and then they would
shake their heads and walk off. Life went on for
them. But once, near the Coliseum, a Russian
tourist that Rafaele had just stolen their camera
from, actually chased him for apparently forty five
minutes — Rafael said he played hide and seek for
forty five minutes — Moscow breeds tough people.
The brother of the girl that chased Rafael told me
that they were from Moscow and that life was hard
in Russia. I said that I was sorry and walked off.
Was I sorry? Karma was something I wondered of,
though I don’t think I really knew what that meant.
Perhaps I found sorry pointless. Sorry really does
nothing, so I usually did not feel anything. Even
then, sorry felt like a cop-out you only use to save
face. An orphan has a diminished view in regards
to reputation up-keep and saving face, especially
being that my life had been chequered.
I eventually left Rome after drugs had taken
a considerable toll on my lifestyle; Cocaine was my
choice of drug and its allure was an altar I had been
praying at for a few months, when in Rumi's
apartment not paying much attention to anything,
as I think I was playing with the camera that I was
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