Trouble in Mind
Last Saturday afternoon I was coaxed out of the bar that to some extent has become my prison. Not like in Pollsmoor, more like Pablo Escobar’s luxury prison that he built himself, staffed with his goons, and where he lived a sheltered life of luxurious captivity. In other words, a self-inflicted sentence of cultural seclusion, paid for by myself, and enforced by no other than myself. The temptation came in