“Notions of heartbreak are a function of vanity; there is no such thing as a ‘broken’ heart. Furthermore, there is no single organ that could house the feeling of ‘love’.

“It seemed to register in my guts and my heart, and probably my sex organs most of the time. It drifted around my body like a cloud. The heart itself is bent on survival. It keeps beating, as rhythmic and relentless as the ticking of an atomic clock.

I do some shadow boxing to stay loose and to help pass the time. The image of the shadow pushing back, its hands joined to my hands where it stretches colossal along the corrugated iron wall, is not lost on me. The moon screws one eye shut to peep through the gap between the wall and the roof.”