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5:27 am

It is time to get up.

Airport.

Shower – I use the woman’s fancy shampoo.

Toothpaste, lotion, brush; done – in the black hygiene bag.

The woman enters the bedroom to check on me, “You have everything?”

“Yes,” I say, “I think so; if I leave anything, you could send it to me?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Okay,” I say.  She walks to the kitchen and sits down softly with ...

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You ain’t one of us!

You don’t speak our language; you don’t accept our rites,

You love going to school, you’re never in fights,

You’re a fanny, a minge, a shame to the blood,

You don’t act or do what a gypsy lad should.

You ain’t one of us!

You love the gorja; you call them your friends,

The bairns of bobbies, where does your loyalty lie in the end?

You want to leave ...

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