DR. EASH - DAY 124

The rain does not fall in Cambodia, it is thrown down to the parched ground with such veracity that you’d believe it was chucked in spite and anger. As the water hurled down from the sky, I imagined tinned roofs being punctured and boats cut into many wooden fragments. The splashing made the brown lake water jump and reverberate as if bass whoopers were being pumped through underneath. Boats halted, people stayed indoors, the animals stayed quiet. Even the sun hid behind grey clouds.