FOOTNOTES Journal-ista Nick Clarke used to live in Brasil, and has changed the following names for legal reasons.

It was no good I had to get out. I'd been lying on my thin bed tossing everything over for hours. The heat was sucking my guilty tension out through my pores. Trickles of sweat made me shudder even more. Blah blah blah! Too many bleeding times. Too many bloody poems written about how fucking bad I feel after drinking, like it ' s some therapy or something. Jesus Christ! Would I never fucking learn?

I got up, dressed shabbily but as coolly as I could, sprayed myself and got out. I hurriedly waved at neighbours hanging over balconies, grinning away the afternoon, looking for a topic of conversation; well it wasn ' t gonna be me today! No fucking way. I'd been caught like that so many times and now look at the fucking state of me!

The blinding rays of the sun danced in sync to the thudding Samba bouncing off the concrete flats and wacking me right behind the eyes. A young girl's bikini-clad bottom swayed with purpose as she stood on a balcony hand washing her 'for best ' dental-floss knickers and piles of babies nappies. She shyly cocked her head to one side and opened her Brazil-nut eyes wide for a fleeting moment. That's all it takes! That's their fucking secret weapon. They can hook you in a second if you don't resist, which is not fucking easy at all, I can tell you!

The previous night I'd been at a club, big open-air one, well most of them are here as it ' s too bloody hot to be indoors. I was sat at the bar as usual, too cool to dance, well, too pissed as well to be honest, trying to look 'above it all', waiting for someone special to notice how bohemian I was. Well, there was this silky chocolate-skinned beauty with bleached highlights. I know, I know! I should have read the signs. She was dancing with this fat arsehole, obviously only coz he had cash. She kept on swinging him round to flash those eyes at me, into me! I knew she had 'Trouble' written right across her forehead but I couldn't ignore her, sad fucker that I am, I couldn't!

As she left the dance floor she gave me one of those long stares which fry the brain and leave the cock solely in charge and I was hooked, reeled in, gutted and ready for the barbecue. All over the bar we found each other, stealing glances from her walking wallet. Later, When I was leaning my head against the urinal wall taking a piss, he and his pals came to say hi to the new gringo in town. After their lame kicks and one weak smack on the side of my head I dived in, literally! I stumbled as I swung and head-butted someone's thigh. Then just swung really. Having been thrown out onto the street with fatso and his mates, I stumbled around trying to figure out which way home was when they pulled up in a old souped-up Ford; one mouth giving it loads leaning out of his window. I was getting a bit worried about guns and all that, so I did what I thought was best and slammed his head into the side of the car a few times until he shut the fuck up! Then, I'm not sure how, but I just laid everyone out. They were piling out of the car and I was decking 'em! I was hitting anything that moved; even a few friends of friends from round my way who had come out of the club to see the action. That was a night. Not sure who drove me home, remember one guy with a bloody nose, who I was grabbing and kissing in the back seat. Those eyes. Don' t let them get you with those bloody eyes!

Back in the harsh light of day I made it through the neighbours gossip, news travels fast and I didn't wanna hear what else I'd been up to that night. I came to the end of my Barrio, carried on to where i wasn't known. It's good to get away. There was a Tackaka stall at the end of the shacks; tackaka's an Indian dish of prawns, stock, chilli's and a secret green leaf with similar properties to coca leaves. It ' s the finest hangover cure, well, washed down with a few beers it is!

I kept walking. I hadn't been this far before. i could see that it was poor; corrugated shacks, wooden homes on stilts thrown together from whatever was available, fried chicken stalls, tiny provision huts and dusty tracks. Where I lived was fairly well off, the people had jobs and toilets and the roads were tarmaced. There was no hot water. No water at all for half the day and in this heat you needed to shower as much as possible and change your clothes regularly. My usual day went like this; Cold shower, hang on the outside of a jam-packed bus into town, always late and drenched. Home for lunch soaked again, smelling a bit now as well and just when you need it there's no bloody water! I don't understand why when One of the biggest rivers in the world is 500 meters from my apartment!

I'd had enough of walking and looked for a place to supplement the Tackaka. There was a miss-mash of wood and corrugated iron at the end of a main road that turned out to be a bar. I approached the wooden counter. It's fine selection of vile bottles of god knows what hellish spirits made me dry retch with the memory. A big guy with another half of himself round the middle grunted something and nodded for me to take a seat. I hate fussy waiters and he, in his faded Bermudas and bare chest and his lack of personnel hygiene precautions, was not fussy at all and plonked down in front of me exactly what I needed. I sank the steel cold beer with relish! I relaxed for the first time all morning. See, I told you Takaka and beer! God's own cure! I looked around, a few out of date topless calendars and some football team pennants are always a good sign. A scattering of Formica tables and chairs, a nailed together bar with shelves and a big freezer taking centre stage. There was only a couple sat in the corner pulling at each other. Argh, morning romance. Just outside a dirty Indian-looking kid was blowing the embers of an oil drum-cum-makeshift barbecue. On a chair next to him squadrons of flies were dive bombing grey looking steaks floating in a clear marinade. I tried to read My Jorge Armada book to make me feel at home and, of course, just in case anyone interesting might notice.

Page 1 | 2 | 3