Dear diary…
The Japanese guy grabs a beer from the fridge and says in bad Spanish: “frío, poco”. After the third one he starts to get sloppy. Drinks them like water. At the bar he insists with speaking Spanish. I can still hear his gibberish from away while talking to others. Back in the hostel his face is deformed by alcohol. He’s sweating and cursing a girl that’s not there. “Muddafuckerr”. He reminds me of the yakuzas on the movies that die on the first scene from a shot in the leg. I’m going to bed. Not even drunk I have patience for this. In the room there are twelve beds. I get out of the bathroom and the fat guy is there waiting in silence. He follows me into the room. I sit in the bed and he gets close and says: “what did you say about me to the French girl? “. “I said nothing, time for bed”. He asks again. I point to his bed. He keeps asking until getting ungry: “tomorrow… I’ll kill you…” While moving his leg like crushing someone’s head to the ground. He takes his t-hirt off and sits on the bed. A tattoo of an angry face covers his whole back. He repeats “Tomorrow, I’ll kill you”. I grab my knife and go to bed. I fall asleep with my eyes open. July 30th. Welcome to Bulgaria.