A couple of days later, Maier was back on his feet. But he couldn’t run from himself. He slept under a net in a neat, small room located in an unremarkable family home on the edge of town, a bottle of water under his arm.
Every few hours, he woke, bathed in sweat, listening to the panic recede, and cursed the world. He hadn’t seen Raksmei since his rescue. Twice a day, the family with whom he stayed invited him to eat. Rice and prahok. Maier didn’t eat much. The boys who lived in the house tried to animate him to play football, but he wouldn’t leave the safety of the net.
prahokShe suddenly stood in his room, a pile of newspapers under her arm. Jeans, white cotton shirt, leather sandals. She’d parted the short hair with a garish plastic hair clip. He noticed small golden rings in her ear
