Delhi Station.
Mob scene!
One determined guy grabs me and won’t turn loose. He promises a clean, cheap hotel. He drags me out of the crowd and puts my backpack and me on his motor scooter taxi for a two-rupee ride to the hotel. Oh, it’s a dirty hole of a place with the same stoned European freaks I have seen at every stage of this old silk and modern drug route to the mystic east crashed all over the filthy floor.
I walk out of the place and, eating an apple, find my way back to the railway station.
I am back at the train station by midnight. A gang of young men follows me around suggesting I buy their drugs. They say they “have everything”. I try to lose them but can’t. Finally I throw down my backpack, roll up in my blanket and join the hundreds of sleeping forms on the floor under the hopeful eyes of these youthful drug salesmen.
I sleep well.
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