I can 't wrap my head around this world , or the people in it . I float among trains and hostels . I am at sea . That is where I am , and where I was when I was on father 's island . I wondered if I shouldn 't kill myself , because it 's hard out here . It 's so hard . I see why my father didn 't want this for me . I guess I 'm glad I 'm out here , though . I 'll stay out here until the end of the world . I dreamed about this last night , and I was thinking about this in the cathedral . On this city block , where I am right now , I live with all these strangers in a hazy window of five or ten minutes where stores open and close and clocks aren 't all synchronized . That 's kind of how the end of the world will be , I think . When the end of the world comes , two eyes will bend shut . Ten fingers will curl closed . One tongue will wilt like a dead flower , and two ears will hear nothing . When someone dies , it 's the end of the world for them . It might as well be . Dark dreams of death and ruin , my father 's island , and the man that washed ashore , and when I woke up from my dream , I was in a hostel room with forty other beds . People were snoring . I was alone in the dark until morning , listening to so many others ' dreams - hearing nothing . By nightfall , I was in a bar in Little Istanbul , in Munich - a cluster of buildings packed with Turks - Turkish food , Ouzo , Grappa , corner stores , doeners , and cheap neon signs . I was right across the street from the Hauptbahnhof . I had everything I owned between my pockets and a single backpack , including about four - hundred thousand Euro left from your parting gift , hidden in a moneybelt under my clothes . In this bar , I met a young woman from Montana who was traveling alone across Europe . She was sleeping in a hostel room with forty other people . When she was drunk , she told me that she had a taser in her purse , and when she slept , she kept it under her pillow . She was afraid , every night , that she 'd set it off and electrocute herself in the face , but she was afraid to sleep without it . When she went to the restroom , she left her jacket in her seat , to tell all the people of the bar that she would return . By the time her body heat had worn off the wood , she 'd be back . I never did that , with my jacket , even if it was the way things were done in Germany . I kept your . 38 in my jacket , hand sewn into the seam . I may not be good for much in the real world , but I know how to sew . My mother made sure I learned how to sew , like a proper lady . I stole Ms . Montana 's jacket . I bolted from the bar , tab unpaid . I didn 't need the jacket , but I also needed the jacket . I didn 't have enough clothes , and I needed my money to last for decades . I hopped onto the first train at the station , going anywhere . You weren 't there , Peter , so I guess I should tell you about my first communion . I think it started all of this , for me . You were out with father , doing whatever you did to make money and surround us with men with guns on an island . The men on the street did not . I touched my mother 's arm and pointed this out to her and she told me that maybe more of them did than I thought . She held my hand and looked out at them . She was bored and her hand was cold . The men out there had no rifles over a shoulder like a woman carried a purse . They didn 't casually place guns on tables at their sidewalk restaurants . And , the people didn 't look at us , nervously . They didn 't try not to speak . My mother sneered at them and remained quiet until the people rolled their eyes , threw up their hands and walked away . " Only … My dream was to be a priest on an island , not a princess . I wanted my own perfect world , there , among friends and Christians . " My mother took a long drink of vodka . She was bored . Her hands were shaking . She probably hadn 't had her medicine . At home , our father kept her medicine in a safe in the wall , and only he knew the combination . Only when he was around was she allowed to use the medicine . " Your father is supposed to meet us for lunch with Peter . I don 't know where they are . We won 't wait for them if they 're late . I hate bringing you here . This world is a pit of snakes , and they all want to do terrible things to you if only we weren 't here to stop them , with me and your father 's protection . You need to stay with us on the island , not be out here . " I spoke English , and a little German because my mother was American and my father was German and they both taught me their languages . They demanded it of everyone in the house , too . Spanish was the language of dirty , brown animals - the help , the people of the island who were not us , and these brown people on the mainland . Father Pietro did not speak any German . When we wanted to talk just to each other , my mother and me , we spoke German . My mother drank her martini , and didn 't want to speak anymore . If I tried to say something , she shushed me . She had a headache . She needed her medicine . We bought a dress from a woman who touched my mother 's shoulder like a friend . She let it happen , too . She even feigned a smile . Then , when the lady turned her back , my mother scowled at her . We went to a restaurant . I had never been in a restaurant before . I got in trouble for staring at all the other people in the room , all of us eating different things . My mother explained the check , to me , and said we had to leave a tip , even if service was terrible , which she said it was . I had never been in a restaurant before , and I didn 't know about these things . She said that father is running late at an important meeting or he 'd be joining us . Then , my mother , Father Pietro , and I brought back our dress to the island for my first communion in the village church . I stood at the altar in my dress and ate the bread , drank the wine . I marveled at the world I had seen . I wore my communion dress for the rest of the day . We lived , surrounded on all sides by water like a blue jewel . My father came and went on a boat with Peter , his oldest friend and pilot . I had only ridden in your boat twice . Once when I had gone to shore to buy a communion dress , and again when I left the island in the night . We were surrounded by reefs - coral trees and tropical fish , blurs of color in the warm blue water . I had never known winter or autumn . I knew only summer , every single day . I walked along the beach , and held my sandals in my hand and the men that worked there , with AK - 47s slung over their backs , mostly ignored me . I was still wearing my communion dress . I had just gotten out of the church , and eaten the communion lunch . My mother was angry because my father hadn 't been there . She had a cellphone that she could call him on . She kept dialing his number , but he wouldn 't answer . He sent her a text , and she threw the phone across the room . I ate watermelon . I was not thinking about death or dead men . I was thinking about the world beyond the horizon , and all the marvels that must be out there , on the mainland . Not far from shore in the surf , I saw a thing floating , clumped in kelp and rags and floating plastics . I squinted . Then , I knew I wasn 't seeing just trash and kelp . I knew exactly what that shape was : a man 's body , floating among trash . None of the men who watched the beach worried that there was a man in the water , and who could blame them ? The man in the water was not one of us , on the island , and he had no business here in death . I looked at that bloated body , floating upon trash , and I did not know him . I walked closer to him . The waves pushed his floating heap of empty milk jugs and vines to the edge of the water . I walked out into the waves . I hiked my hem to keep the edges dry , and picked my path carefully around the small jagged red and purple trees of coral . I bent over . I reached out my hand , and could not get the man in from the water . I dropped my skirt into the waves and jumped out and in . I swam out into the waves . I grabbed at the man . I snagged the tip of a milk bottle with my finger . I pulled the vine . Trash slid free , spilling away into the water . The body tried to sink . I caught at him . His skin was so cold . I pulled him up towards the shore . I pulled hard on it . I got the body up to the shore by myself . Once upon the beach I got a good look at the dead body . The man - though dead - had a vise grip on the vines . He must have been trying to pull himself out of the water by pulling on vines . He must have come from the mainland . He must have been in one of those jungle villages my mother ranted about , that are all pushed up against the water because the people are ignorant monkeys and don 't know any better , and the new maids had better not come from one of those villages because they couldn 't even keep their hands clean . Rigor mortis had settled in . His arms were out to his side like a crucifix . His head leaned always back and to the right a little . His eyes were bloodshot . I imagine they 'd turn yellow in another few hours , or shrivel into raisins as the sun and sea salt dried him out . I could see his tongue because it had wedged open his mouth . His skin was bruised and discolored . His tongue had stiffened into a pale pink tree root . I thought of how handsome he must have been . This poor man had drowned , clutching at vines wrapped in trash . He hadn 't wanted to drown . He had wanted to climb back onto the shore - wherever he was - and return to his life as if nothing had happened . I had never seen a naked man before - never . I had seen a few of the young toddlers in the village running naked and screaming until their mothers caught them - but I had never seen this . Never this , bruised all over the body , discolored and every joint swollen from the seawater . I looked up at the men with guns . They were shuffling from foot to foot , nervously . I told one of the men that I needed his shirt . He looked at me uncomfortably . He nodded . He took the rifle off his shoulder . He pulled his shirt off and gave it to me . I made the shirtless man help me lift the dead body so I could wrap the man 's waist like a towel . " Help me , " I said . I picked up one of the dead man 's arms . " Let 's get him back to the house . " The mustached man balked . His buddy , did , too . I was insistent . They obeyed . Into my bedroom , we carried him . I made them put the drowned man in my bed . I told the men to leave . They did not hesitate to flee from the drowned man and me . The vines had dragged along the ground and accumulated beach sand on my carpet . They were stuck in his hands , and I knew I 'd never be able to pull them out . I had a pair of paper scissors among my arts and craft supplies and I clipped away at everything I could to neaten his appearance . I started by clipping away the vines . The vines fell about the floor . Then , I tentatively gave him a haircut . At first , I was unconcerned about messing up , but then I realized that this man wasn 't like the little boys of the village . Any mistake I made would not grow back . My mother turned up , eventually . She had a white sheet over an arm . She touched my back . " Why did you bring it to the house ? " I took the sheet from my mother and I tucked in the man on my bed as if he were a patient . " I don 't think he 's dead , " I said . " Not completely . He will come back to life . " " No , " She took my hand . She pulled me away from the man in my bed . " Come , " she said . " Come away from this , baby . " My father would come , with you Peter , hungry and tired and bearing gifts . Before you both came home , I wanted the dead man to come back to life . I wanted him to stand up and dance and wrestle with you and father and carry me away . I wanted him to teach me all about the rest of the world , that I had only seen once from a limousine window , a restaurant , and a dress shop . The priest came next . He must be nearly ninety , by now . A maid helped him enter the room . He smelled like he hadn 't washed his clothes in soap . He had hands like wilted fruit , molded mangoes left too long to ripen . His skin reeked of sugarcane . I think his teeth were rotted out . A maid held the priest 's hand , and guided him to a chair in the room . She helped him ease down into a seat . She crossed herself and fled my room . " Men are not dolls , Nausicaa , " said the priest . " Do not be so averse to death . We all die . It 's perfectly natural . When I die , I will enter the light of Christ 's love , and all my worldly concerns will be washed away , left behind in a husk that contorts in a pain I do not feel . Is there tea ? Have someone bring me tea . The walk here was strenuous . " He looked up at the servant . " Tea ? These old bones need something . " The servant left the room for his comfort . " It wouldn 't work . Nausicaa , you are being stubborn . Your own personal Lazarus ? You remember the story of Lazarus , don 't you ? Do you know what happened to him after he was risen from the grave ? " " Yes , for a time . Then , his death came again , and he passed on . There is no permanence in miracles . All the blind who were granted sight , died in darkness , eyes closed forever . All the lame that danced the mazurka , returned to sickbeds and passed away , weeping in agony . The lepers fell prey to cancer , accidents , old age , though their leprosy was healed . You want a miracle . How long would it be until death returned to take this man ? The true miracle is heavenly glory and the light of Christ , which we only truly join in death . " " You talk too much . " I pulled dolls down from the shelf - a teddy bear , a monkey . I held them close to my heart . " You only say it because you 're powerless . " " Child , it is a beatitude to bury the dead . It is a holy act . You 'll get sick , with this filthy thing in your bedroom . It already stinks of the rot and seawater . Best put him in the ground . Let the men take him away , and bury him deep enough to contain the stench . " This was my father 's house - my house - not Pietro 's church . My father wanted me to have anything I wanted , always . He had never denied me , and never would . Even my mother knew that . I put my dolls with the man on the bed . I took a book from the shelf and sat in the window . I pretended to read . Tea came , though I didn 't want any . I thought of making the servant pour it into the mouth of the drowned man , but he had had plenty of liquid already . What he needed was electricity , and heat to boil away the water . We three sat alone together , in silence , a long time - the body , the priest , and me . The servant came to tell us it was time for my communion day 's special dinner . I thought of bringing the drowned man with me , but I could not imagine asking the old priest to help me carry the body , and there were no staff around . I 'd have to abandon the body to go to dinner . I 'm running out of time at this internet cafe , I 'll tell you more later . I slept in the woods the last two nights because I was in between cities . I slept under a tree and I was wet and cold . There wasn 't a hotel , even if I wanted one . There wasn 't a car or a hostel or a motel or a bar or a store of any kind . There was just a long , empty road , and a sidewalk beside it , leading to some distant city . Tonight , I need a hostel , decent food , and a shower . I can probably steal the food . The staff at the house changed from time - to - time , Peter , and I noticed it . How could I not notice it , even if I was young ? I was urged not to ask about such things . On an island , one would think that anyone who left the house would go to the village and remain in the village and I would see them again and again , all the days of my life . Instead , people were brought in from the shore , and placed in an empty house . This is the land of the living , not of the dead . Men who are afraid to speak to the boss ' daughter drink hard at night , shoot their guns off into the stars . There is music and dancing and laughter . Sunday morning , they are in church or they are not , and the reverend father says his mass for the family of the man who rules this island , and all the other children here whom I am advised to avoid as much as possible , because I am better than them , but I did help out with the littlest ones , with my mother , cutting their hair - no lice , she had said - and scrubbing the dirtiest ones down before they can go away to the mainland . I walk along the beach and witness the remains of the living . Condoms and spent oystershells , broken bottles and bonfire ash . Empty bullet casings . Bits of bone and blood . Never bodies . Never the dead . I have no home , but I have money . It 's freezing cold . It 's February and I 'm so cold . I stole warmer jackets , and a hat and mittens . I looked on the ground for anything I could use as a scarf . Dry newspaper . Dry anything . I walked from Erbenheim to the Wiesbaden marketplace , where I could buy a scarf , because I could see the cities were close enough to walk , and I didn 't want to spend money on a bus if I could avoid it . German buses are expensive , and if you try to ride without a ticket , they demand to see your ID to write you a ticket . I stopped in this webcafe to warm up for a minute before traveling on . Communion dinner was served after my first Communion on my father 's island . It was the last dinner I 'd eat there . We ate duck a ' l ' orange . I didn 't know it was a luxury . I had grown up with it . I couldn 't imagine eating it now . The reverend father joined us for dinner . He led us in grace . We ate in silence . I listened for the sounds of anyone in my room , moving the body . I heard none . I chewed . I looked at my mother . She hid her gaze in her food . She was furious , I could tell . Father wasn 't here for my communion . I had dragged a body on shore . The good , reverend father ate slowly , savoring every bite . He often dined with us . My mother picked up her plate , halfway through her meal . She threw it at the wall . She picked up her glass and threw that , too . She stormed off , into her bedroom , for the timed safe . She had to wait for the timer to open , and I was never to bother her when it did . She kept her needles in the bedroom safe , with her special medicines . The reverend father didn 't stop eating when mother left the table . He leaned forward and smiled . " You are growing up to be such a strange girl , " he said , to me . He didn 't say anything about mother 's absence . I returned to my room , and my bed was empty . There were new sheets on the bed , and a new blanket . The mess on the carpet of sand and vines hadn 't been cleared away , yet . There was still a beach on my floor , even if my bed had been wiped clean of all signs of what washed ashore . A vacuum makes too much noise . They 'd have to run the generator , too , which makes too much noise . I 'd have run screaming to stop them before it was too late . I saw my father , then . He wore a black suit , and carried a cane with a sword inside of it , that he likes to show off when he 's drunk . He used to be a fencer . He had just come in from your boat , Peter . " Go to your room , " he said . " I need to give your mother her medicine . She 's probably a devil from hell as long as she 's had to wait . " " Anything for you , baby , " he said . He wasn 't listening to me . He placed the flower on his lapel . " I will look around for a gun for you . They make pellet guns you could use to shoot seagulls , if you like . Go play . Be home before dark . " I walked down to the ship . Peter , that 's where you were , dressed like my father , but you have that big , shaggy white beard that makes me think of Santa Claus . You had a small radio playing Spanish music . You ate hamburgers one at a time from a brown paper bag . You looked up . " You are . I remember when you were a baby . You get bigger every day . When I was your age , I was on a street corner in . I was trouble . Big world out there , you 've never seen . Glad you made it to shore . " You smiled . You pulled it out of your shoulder holster . You had this small revolver - a . 38 , with your name engraved in the bone handle which is how I can remember your name so good after all this time wandering . You flipped it open and spilled the bullets out onto the bottom of the boat . They sounded like marbles . You sighted down the empty barrel . I sat down with you , Peter . I told you about the dead body I found . I remember what you said . " Crazy , girl . You think the world is just a game ? You 've never been so close to death as him , and your dad doesn 't want that for you . Nobody does . " Then , we played some cards for a while - go fish , and a litle blackjack . I kept the gun in my hand the whole time . Then , you looked up . You were quick to snatch the gun from me . You slipped it back into your holster . He grabbed me by my wrist . He squeezed it hard . He dragged me , and walked fast . I fell on the ground , but he didn 't stop dragging me . I cut my knee , and there was blood , and it didn 't matter . He kept pulling me . I crawled up to my knees . And then , I was in my room . I heard the lock click from the outside . I punched the door . I turned , and leaned against it and slid down to the clean , vacuumed floor . I pressed my hand against my knee . I tried my first cigarette there , from a Turkish man . He didn 't speak German or English , and I didn 't speak Turkish or French . We sat together on the balcony . He handed me a cigarette . I looked him in the face . He shook his head . He said something in French . He pointed at his ears . He offered me a light from an expensive looking Zippo and I took the flame , and coughed and coughed and we laughed together . He taught me how to smoke so I wouldn 't cough , to just pull the smoke into my mouth , and taste it , then let it go . Then , I had to go . There wasn 't a reason , or a place , or anything that I was looking for . I went because the people in the hostels told each other all these stories about the place . I had only the vaguest grasp of history , picked up in conversations with tourists and bus drivers . Everyone had to go there . Maybe I was looking for the man that washed ashore , came back to life , and walked out when I wasn 't looking . He changed the sheets in silence . He raided my father 's closet for clothes . He looked sadly at the floor , because he knew it would be too loud , and he didn 't know where the generator was . He climbed out the window , like I did , and escaped in a hidden boat like the ones the men use to bring supplies to the island . He had decided to go somewhere without violence , without boats and oceans . Berlin was an entire city that had become a monument to peace , and the way love defeats all the evil in the world . Where else would he go ? I was alone all the time . I didn 't know what to say to people . I looked out at a marvelous world , and I was locked inside my head , like a ship in a sea . I think about Father Pietro , and First Communion , and how patient Father Pietro must have been to finally get revenge on my father for coming to the island , taking over , and killing people , having people killed , replacing anyone my father wanted to replace . Father Pietro took me to shore one time , for a communion dress . A willful girl , spoiled all my life , I had seen a world of wonder and mystery and I never thought it wouldn 't be safe . I fell into it like a fool . The church was in the middle of the village . The village was full of houses with tin roofs , and wooden walls where magazine pages are used to cover over the holes and cracks . People slept in hammocks , there . Children slept in piles of clothes on the floor . The church was painted white , with stained - glass windows that told a story of Noah 's ark . The church was smaller than a living room . The cross was embossed with real gold , and covered in jewels . The altar was made from stone . There was a relic of a saint in the altar . I had heard it was a fingerbone . My mother said it was just a rumor , but I had heard it from my father , who never needed to lock himself up in the bedroom for medicine like my mother . We sat in folding chairs , at my first communion . I wore a white dress , like a wedding . Then , after the luncheon in the churchyard , I walked across the beach in my communion dress , and found a body . " Give me your gun , " I said . " If I can 't go to shore , I 'm going to shoot at coral . I promise I won 't hurt anybody . " " Go read a book , " he said . " Go fly a kite , or read a book . Go walk on the beach . Collect shells . Make a necklace of shells to give to your mother . " He frowned . He pulled it from his holster . He checked the safety , and handed it to me , handle out . I pointed the gun across the bow and pulled the trigger . The safety was still on , and I played with the gun , a moment , just for show . Then , I undid the safety . I fired across the prow , into the water . The gun jumped in my hand like a living thing . I nearly dropped it into the sea . I had to struggle to get it back into my hand the right way . I cocked the gun and pointed it at Peter 's body . He looked me in the eye . " If I take you to shore and something happens to you , I 'm dead . Do you understand that ? Your father will kill me , and it will be a long , slow , painful death . If you make anyone do this for you , they 're dead . He 'd kill your mother if she did this without his permission . " I lifted the gun to Peter 's chest , right over his heart where the surgery scars from his pacemaker push up like a mountain range on a globe . " I don 't want to shoot you , Peter . I like you . We play cards together . But , I will if I have to . Then , I 'll figure the boat out myself , and I might die at sea before I ever get to shore because it 's harder to guide a boat than it is to shoot you . You don 't want me to die , do you ? " He nodded at me . " Brat , " he said . His hands were shaking . He looked around . " Watched you growing up out here . They 're really fucking you up , kid . " He looked around some more . We were alone , in the dark , at the island 's pier . He took a deep breath . He nodded . " You know what ? Fuck your dad . He 's the one who made you like this . This is his own fucking fault . " He pushed the button to start the engine . " I keep a money belt under my shirt . Don 't let anyone see it . People will try to take it from you . We 're only a couple miles out . Once we get to sea , I 'll give you the money . You 're going to need it . If you really want to run away , see the world , learn how things work out there , find a coyote . If you stay in the city , your father 'll find you . Find a coyote and buy a passport . Go somewhere big . Europe , or China , or America . Better for you , in the long run . They chose this island . You were just born here . " You told me . You told me everything you could . You told me where to find a good , reputable coyote that wouldn 't murder me in my sleep . You told me to tell everyone I had HIV , but I didn 't know what that was at the time . You just said saying it would keep me safe . You told me to keep a little money in my pocket in case I got mugged . Never fight a mugger until after he 's got the money and he 's not paying attention to me . Then , shoot him , if I 've got the guts for it and I 'm ready to run . I listened close , Peter . I don 't know if you know it , but I was listening close to you . I stayed safe , mostly . You gave me your business card , and told me to e - mail when I had a chance , if someone could explain it to me . It took too long to explain for now . I could find a webcafe , and they 'd explain everything . You wanted me to let you know how I was doing in the world . You said that you were going to have to bolt , too , and you were ready for that . My father would kill anyone that helped me escape . Fuck my father . When we landed , you grabbed me . You held me close . You kissed my forehead . I never realized you loved me like a daughter until right then . You wanted me to have an amazing , incredible , wonderful life where I could have my own destiny and I wasn 't beholden to someone else 's dreams . It was a lot to realize in one kiss , but it all came together for me , like that . Things do that sometimes . I did what I could with your money , Peter . I was quick to buy new clothes . I had seen how to do it downtown when I was with my mother , buying a communion dress . I was quick to ride a bus to a harbor . I wanted to go where my father knew no one - had no men , no friends , no anything . I found a coyote who could take me to Europe for eight thousand dollars , American . He put me in a cargo bin , and sold me fake IDs I could use to get around , but he told me they 'd never work at airports , only buses and trains . Now , my name was Maria Garcia , and I was eighteen years old . I told everyone in the cabin that I had HIV , and they wouldn 't touch me to shake my hand because of those letters I spoke . I didn 't even know what they meant . Ten days at sea , I shared a cargo hold with a dozen men and five women . We ate beans from cans every day . We shit in the empty cans and piled them up on one side of our little space , near the door . Once a day , the coyote came by to empty the cans and give us more beans . Men peed out the airholes . Women used cans . We landed . We were moved to shore . We had to wait until night to escape . I walked from the boat . I crossed a chainlink fence . I walked along a road into a city , where I could find a hostel and sleep the night . They wouldn 't take my money , and told me I had to get my currency exchanged at a bank . I had to wait until morning , when the banks opened . I waited until morning . I got five - hundred Euro , and went back to the hostel and borrowed soap and shampoo and found new clothes , a bag . I was in Portugal . In Berlin , I liked it . The land was flat , and the roads were wide . The people didn 't look me in the face . The East and West were like night and day after the wall , even though so many years have passed . The west was shopping malls and foreign restaurants and so expensive , and in the East it was easy to find a cheap room with a view of the street in case my father bangs on my door . There 's an escape route , too , but I won 't tell you about that . I 'm always ready to run . The flat land was like a big , huge sprawl , and there was no water to hem anybody in and no mountain to stop the eye on the horizon , only beautiful skyscrapers and rivers and roads and trees and grasslands . I bought a bicycle to get around . I found the square where all the books were burned just before the Jews and gypsies and queers got burned . I didn 't know anything about it until I saw the memorial . I had to ask people about it , because I didn 't really know anything about history , there , and I was told about the books , the Jews , the gypsies and the queers . I followed the directions I got from the people there , to an apartment building with a playground in the yard . There wasn 't a plaque there , because no one wanted the neo - nazis coming to the place and trying to bring back the past . There 's a playground built over the bunker where Eva Braun agreed to marry the dying dictator , just before she agreed to die with him . I looked down on the ground where the bodies were burned on the ground , and left as ashy dust on the ground , an evil man and his elegant bride . I guess a part of me still misses my mother and father , but I 'm never going back . Bits of food wrappers , papers , and dead leaves are on the ground here . The trash melds with graffiti seamlessly . The dirty , jagged spray paint looks like trash rising up upon the walls . Everywhere I look , I see things left on the ground , things left on the ground , things left on the ground . Berlin - dirty , pretty thing - someday the street sweepers will come for us , and wipe away everything that makes us beautiful . The men will come with brooms and scrub the spontaneous spray paint love - letters off the brick walls , and hoses will blast away the left behind pieces of life splattered onto the ground until a clean , brick and concrete city remains like a naked rock . There 's so much spray paint here , I don 't know what to think of my quiet island . And here I am , Peter , and I think I 'm home at last . I think this is where I 'll stay . Don 't ever tell my father . I smell like stale bread , crumpled bits of greasy paper , empty juice bottles , concrete dust , sweaty train seats , mostly - clean urinals , hand soap , toothpaste , coffee , stinky boots , sweat socks , mud , pine sap , iron , and money that has changed a thousand hands and will change a thousand more . I got a job in a giant shopping complex two buses out from my apartment , working the cash register . I short - change customers coins most of the time , if I think I can get away with it . At the end of the week , I get enough coins to buy my own new clothes at a discount store around the corner from my rented flat . I still wear my money belt all the time , under my clothes . Today , in the shopping complex , birds flew overhead . They had slipped into the cracks of the open doors , open windows , open garages . They got lost in the rafters . They swooped down to the floor to sift through the food court trash and the flies and mosquitoes that had made the same mistake as the birds . I guess it 's time to get a better job , where I don 't have to steal . I guess I 'll do something to make more friends - go to bars and clubs and churches and try to meet people . I guess I 'll fall in love , and get married , and have children . That 's what I 'll do , now . I guess you would have e - mailed me back if you had gotten away . You never write back , and I think it might be because you didn 't make it to a coyote , like I did . I guess I 've been writing to my father all this time , or maybe nobody , but probably my father . Probably my father . I 've been careful , and you 've never found me , papa . If you do , I 'll run so fast . I 'm ready to escape , again . I hope you 're Peter . I hope you found a home , and people to care about you . I hope you and the man that washed ashore are alive , and laughing , and in love with new people .