Della

Om mig

Kuwait smells different after dark. Dust cooling off the pavement, cardamom out of somebody's kitchen, the sea when the wind turns. I do most of my travelling around this city at night, because I come to you rather than the other way round. Mahboula, Salmiya, Kuwait City, a hotel out along the coast. Name it and I'll be there. I'm thirty, Ivorian, small enough to lose in a crowd and loud enough that you won't. Rushing is the one thing I don't do. If you are the sort of man who checks his watch on the way in, we would both have a better night if you found somebody else.