"Privet" said the blonde approaching me.

"Privet" said the blonde approaching me. I was surprised she thought me russian. Are there so many russian tourists on Goa's beaches, or was it my appearance: loud tropical shirt,

over a shark skin suit, socks with sandals, two lit cigarettes, chunky gold wristwatch, a vodka bottle swinging from a gold chain around my neck. I look like a Russian on a Goan

Curry Crawl on a rainy day in Ipswich. I am, in fact, a Slovakian 'import-exporter' on the terrace of my rented villa on the Costa del Crime. You may call me Marek. It's the vodka

That sells the best, and it's called Death's Door for a good reason. I am unaccountable legally for any deaths that occur while drinking my vodka. That is deliberate because drunks

like us, baby, we were born to drink, but not to drive. So now, before we drink our Death's Door brand vodka, we put on manacles so we can't get to the car. It's only umcomfortable

fiery hoop leaping contest. In the end like the highlander there can be only one. The last shriveled singed husk of a convict. He or she will win their freedom.

Freedom has a cost , freedom is not about winning it is about loosing your last home and those whom you new. You are never free only you change from on enclosure to another.

And I wonder... Can freedom be framed like a photo? Can you feel you're free in your life square of see-through sides?

The bars argued against that though. But then I consider a giant tree. It could not move away from it's roots and yet it was free. So I convinced myself I too was free.