An ordinary day in the mysterious Caucasian land called Armenia (where I expatted for six years) — a day I toiled away at writing a romance novel. An ordinary day without a world crisis but featuring a dead body and a bit of dancing and drinking in the end.
I’m hoping nobody is going to get hurt by this reptile that is taking on gargantuan proportions in my imagination. I see all four poised over the sink hole with sticks raised. I’m staying out of the way, no stick handy. No one seems to expect me, the useless expat, to take part in this, and I love them for it.