the mice

i have become involved with a strange mission of hunting down a ngwe translator for an asylum seeker. i have to make a round of phone calls to the village in 1am, and, after explaining why they haven't heard from me in eight months, ask about their cousins and aunties who may live in ale' belek, though they are not properly familiar with the country. augusta! toronto! silver springs! america! where is my cocoa sprayer?

if that fails there is the matter of my old colleague and his newborn baby and his wife. i would only like to talk to this refugee. who is trying to kill him?

walking home from work i saw a compact suv slow up astride me and the bearded shaded man grinned and said "hop in" (as the mexicans in the low rider say to the asian girl, "japonesa!") and he told me that there is this one academy in taiwan, very costly and dear, but those who emerge from it can speak mandarin as did the classic poets of 200 years ago, the lost generation. he has to translate some poetry, and enjoys the license whereby you, in translating the word for "deep green," which is two repeated syllables, should place alliteration somewhere in that line.