“Madam, now vhat does a lion have to do with books?” asked my taxi driver for the evening.




“Exactly. Nahhthing.”


I watched the young novel-wala outside my window disappear into the evening Dili traffic. He couldn’t have been more than 14 years old. Maybe the cab driver is right.


There is no point in contemplating our accesses. His to freshly published global novels and mine to time borrowed on credit.



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