Despite having a headache, I spent most of the day watching bare-knuckle fights between groups of warring travellers. The internet kept feeding them to me, and all I could do was watch as the beastly men broke each other’s faces in parking lots and underpasses as the rest of their lot goaded them on. Sometimes, it was a respectable affair, other times the air was warm with blood, and the beatings dished out was enough to make my balls shrivel to the size of raisins. Although, strangely enough, the urge to masturbate wouldn’t leave me until I knocked one out while having a shower a few hours later. I’d never be good in a fistfight. One punch to the face and I’d piss myself. Actually, I’d piss myself before any punches were thrown. Not sure why I started watching these videos, although I guess it makes a change from the usual Syrian beheadings and South American torture extravaganzas I can’t take my eyes off even though they make me feel as sad and as lifeless as the corpses of the helpless victims. The world’s littered with bones. Some lost, many ground into dust by the heavy burden of time that weighs down the hearts of those left behind. I bet there are countless teeth lingering about, too. Teeth wrapped in tissue paper flushed down toilets. Teeth knocked out in traveller fights. And the teeth of millions whose deaths are not a tragedy but merely a forgettable, perhaps regrettable statistic. If you collected all their hair, you could weave a tapestry long enough to stretch to the moon. It would tell a story no one would ever wish to know, and yet, amid the suffering and heartache, there are flashes of tenderness; small acts of kindness that have survived the destructive hand of man. Somehow, despite the odds, they have the capacity to lighten a darkened sky as below, rivers of crimson blood continue to flow the same as they have for as long as we’ve called this place our home.