Dear Mr. Plein,
Or may I call you Philipp? Maybe Phipsie, as we say here in Bavaria? Or much better: PP? For my name is Krisha Kops and considering my initials we could have something in common, we could be brothers in alliteration. After all that happened we need something to bond with. Continue reading
J is a short man in his early thirties. Pearls of sweat run down his forehead, trying in vain to protect his face from Delhi’s inexorable summer heat. The jeans, shirt, and glasses he wears are so normal, that he could be one of million Indians. Merely the incessant movement of his eyes are unusual.
“I want to be bonded, and my flesh should be eaten over a couple days,” says J with excitement. “I also want my penis to be skinned and then to be made into socks, so that a lady can wear them.” J does not seem to be “normal” after all – whatever the philosophical definition of this “normal” is. Continue reading