The good old Java days.
They were long behind us.
Luckily I had sated my appetite.
The natural beauty of the place just captivated me.
Walking across rickety wooden rail bridges, with a 100-foot drop into a ravine and a train coming up our ass at 100 miles an hour, ahhhh, they were the days.
Hanging out with ladyboys late at night at a cafe, where the Mad Hindu thought he'd try something different.
The late-night coffees, the prowling around railway lines in Jakarta where the whores worked out of tents.
You could say it was my Year of Living Dangerously.
Oh yes and fucking whores at a cemetery.
Nothing beats it. Fucking under the stars.
Homage to the dead and the living, boy we did it all.
'There will be more of it son,' said Max, who was now in his eighties, but boy could he carry himself.
'There's a mission I have in mind for you, so save your memoir writing for when you are wheelchair bound.'
He was into life extension supplements and East Java was the leader of the pack, especially with breast extension.
'Plants do remarkable things on the slopes of volcanoes,' said Max.
They photosynthesis globules of magic.
Just like the poppy plant, I added, asking, 'when do we go?'
'It will have to be a private charter.' He looked at me and combed his mustache with his two fingers. 'I've got the boat ready, pick you up at Fremantle Port.'
Wait...I said, there had to be an easier way.
'Better still, let's take a flight from the airport.'
What about a hot air balloon?
'That too,' said Max, whose features were aging quickly.
He was becoming an old man and needed the healing powers of herbs from the slopes of Mt Ijin before he became too old to fuck whores half his age.
'Can you edit that bit out?'
Well it's fucking true, I said, and besides, 'Langley have been raising their eyebrows.'
'In what way?'
'They thought you were the Moose Man from Nebraska who stormed the White House.
'Let them think what they want but I am the Moose Man from Nebraska.'
A wink dispelled any misunderstanding.