The Bulgarian

We walked in the sand, on wasteland at the top of the city. Around and below us, I saw towerblocks, houses, the sea. Grass and brick in the sand. Above, the night sky. It was warm, dark and timeless.

I was with The Bulgarian; I saw him, at least. He wore black, a black cloth on his head. Round his neck, a white towel with coloured spots. He carried a large teddy bear he had found somewhere.

The Bulgarian vomited.

“I thought you were a ghost. I thought you were my guide to see the aliens.”