Quetzalcotl and the Goldilocks Effect.

In a town into which we have drunkenly arrived, there is a woman with a green bird on her shoulder. A parrakeet, perhaps. Antonio is on her in an instant: ‘Give me a feather’.

She is perfectly accommodating and pulls a green feather out of her companions tail. A fashions this into a beautiful earring for me with silver solder wire and a piece of Guatemalan jade. I think this is the most gorgeous thing I have ever seen in my life.

Later he vomits and passes out on the roof from the amount of Quetzalteca that we have drank. The white stuff, the scarey stuff. I have a threesome with the crazy American couple with the names from Greek mythology. Come for me, baby, whats your name I know its not Horatio Casey

Weeks later, on the scorching sands of Montenegro, we are offered 60 quetzals for my Mayan earring. I refuse. It is not just an object for me. It is a story, and has a value as such which cannot be valued. A is furious. He has no shoes by this stage and the sand is burning his soles. His mood is ugly and ominous. Eventually they bargain up to 250 quetzals, which is London prices. I still say no. I cant really remember the words that were used or the bellyache that it created from that point. A cursed item. Like the mirror in the squat in Westferry that was broken within hours.

I like to think that he forgave me, and he came to the airport with tears in his eyes when my time was finally up, but its also true that I lost that magical earring at a psytrance rave when he was far away. In my defense I had taken acid in Antigua.