Another day in the jungle.
Jungle Journal 1-15-2006
I rode to Palmar Norte today for some supplies and ran into my neighbor at
a bar. After a couple of beers and some lunch he took me over to see his
whore house. The oldest building in town is the whore house which he and
a friend bought a few months ago. We had a drink at the bar, and since it
was before business hours, had the place to ourselves. The ceiling in the
main bar area has a distinct downward sway, threatening collapse so long
no one believes it anymore. I liked the place, and felt oddly at home. The
girls were languishing in their rooms that “T”’d off from the bar and as we
walked by in the course of the tour they glanced out with little interest,
knowing there was no money to be made at the moment, and no reason to
be friendly. Time off is time off.
I like whores in general, yet it’s been years since engaging one. I think they
ply an honest and worthwhile trade, usually delivering a fair bang for the
buck. American women find them threatening. Whores are straight-forward
on the whole, and if allowed to ply their trade un-abated, would severely
undermine the success of Catch and Fleece practiced by so many women
in the U.S.
The visit was fairly brief, yet pleasant, and soon I was on my way home by
way of the Tucan Hotel in Uvita.
There was a lively crew at The Tucan and I spent a few hours sucking up
rum and cokes with Nikki, Jack and a French photographer that had
photographed many famous people and showed me his book to prove it.
Robert DeNiro was in there, and Micky Rourke, among others. Not a bad
book, I thought, and a pretty friendly guy, but I had had enough and it
seemed like time to make the last leg home.
The moment I started the bike a large bug flew into my right ear and was
hurriedly clawing inward, which drove me to such distraction I fell off the
bike and went running back into the bar begging for help. It was one of the
worst sensations I can remember ever feeling; that fucking bug going
deeper into my ear and no apparent way to stop it. AAAAGH!!! No one
seemed to have a solution and I was starting to lose control when I spied a
water faucet and dove under it with the water up high right into the
ear…take that you piece of shit! HAAHHH!! It came out on the crest of a
wave and splashed to the ground. It was green. I stomped it repeatedly.
tsd
I rode to Palmar Norte today for some supplies and ran into my neighbor at
a bar. After a couple of beers and some lunch he took me over to see his
whore house. The oldest building in town is the whore house which he and
a friend bought a few months ago. We had a drink at the bar, and since it
was before business hours, had the place to ourselves. The ceiling in the
main bar area has a distinct downward sway, threatening collapse so long
no one believes it anymore. I liked the place, and felt oddly at home. The
girls were languishing in their rooms that “T”’d off from the bar and as we
walked by in the course of the tour they glanced out with little interest,
knowing there was no money to be made at the moment, and no reason to
be friendly. Time off is time off.
I like whores in general, yet it’s been years since engaging one. I think they
ply an honest and worthwhile trade, usually delivering a fair bang for the
buck. American women find them threatening. Whores are straight-forward
on the whole, and if allowed to ply their trade un-abated, would severely
undermine the success of Catch and Fleece practiced by so many women
in the U.S.
The visit was fairly brief, yet pleasant, and soon I was on my way home by
way of the Tucan Hotel in Uvita.
There was a lively crew at The Tucan and I spent a few hours sucking up
rum and cokes with Nikki, Jack and a French photographer that had
photographed many famous people and showed me his book to prove it.
Robert DeNiro was in there, and Micky Rourke, among others. Not a bad
book, I thought, and a pretty friendly guy, but I had had enough and it
seemed like time to make the last leg home.
The moment I started the bike a large bug flew into my right ear and was
hurriedly clawing inward, which drove me to such distraction I fell off the
bike and went running back into the bar begging for help. It was one of the
worst sensations I can remember ever feeling; that fucking bug going
deeper into my ear and no apparent way to stop it. AAAAGH!!! No one
seemed to have a solution and I was starting to lose control when I spied a
water faucet and dove under it with the water up high right into the
ear…take that you piece of shit! HAAHHH!! It came out on the crest of a
wave and splashed to the ground. It was green. I stomped it repeatedly.
tsd
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by Thomas Scott Daly
Site Navigator
Costa Rica Stories, Jungle Jounal 1, by tsdaly,
Thomas Scott Daly, whorehouse, 1-15-2006
Thomas Scott Daly, whorehouse, 1-15-2006