The door swings open and Mark stands in the doorway of the humid jungle bar, khaki clad, dabbing beads of sweat off his neck with a handkerchief. The jungle mist rolls past his feet, and the sound of insects invades the room, drowning out the beat of the fan.
Dave sits at a corner table, eyeing a shot of vodka. Wearing a beard and headband, he has been missing for months. “what took you so long”, he challenges Mark. Without lifting his gaze, he downs the shot. Rising, he meets Mark, staring each other down. Breaking the tension, they shake hands, a fierce monkey-grip. Breaking into a smile, Mark speaks. “Dave, you son of a bitch, you’re alive!”
Im flying to Borneo tomorrow! Feeling a bit stir crazy in the madness of kuala lumpur. If it’s even half as exciting as that mental picture in my head, it should be awesome!