Here a handwritten page can be found, inserted just before the part of the manuscript entitled: Commentaries. It's in Louis's hand.
Start anywhere said the reporter, between sups of whiskey - While awaiting a flight to take him far, far from the no longer satisfying smell of foreign climes - Start anywhere I said, he said again - Regardless of their names - What they were called - Before - Before their names became a number in a queue - Sure you might only be freelance now but you're still one of us in a way he said- It's changing every day - Credentials however can be a godsend - It can be the difference between a scrape and an almighty scar - Or a box back home - Then he orders another drink that comes and nods hello before leaping down his gullet like a frightened brown mouse - They're calling his flight - We're heading in opposite directions - He's back to Europe - Meanwhile everything is becoming more like a dream - Then I'm waking again, this time on a train slowly climbing some mountains - Gradually leaving behind any trace of the flatlands - Later in the afternoon a blue boisterous spirit breath along with an awesome age old silence - Encountered on the outskirts of the thin vein of humanity that fragilely runs through the wilderness - The town of Katoomba - Have a closer look, it could just as well be Clonmel today, or Crouch End, mainly on account of the mist, the soft rain, though largely jet lag I guess - I get a bed for the night and play ping pong with a friendly Israeli, who finds the score 7-11, each time it comes up, considerably funny - Later we eat vinegar splashed hot chips with his recently acquired Scottish girlfriend - Countries, it has to be countries - For the moment, further identification remains unnecessary - In these our times of terror - Between consistent steady breathing and passport photos - Post offices - Postcards - Convalescence
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