We're on the phone before we get here. Sincerity is reflected in the words: Children receive gifts from here, not to load, but a mold of cheese I say no.
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In our first encounter in Phnom Penh, we're going out like a forty-year-old friend. A person who lost his way, from time to time lost his way; the humility that can make fun of itself, the exhaustion and exuberance of the idea. It's a superhero who likes making people happy, lost his cape.
His identity, which he kept secret to stay away from an old lover, became a mythology when a social networking site did not accept the names he entered. Now he says briefly more sincerely, so I'm recording his phone, I'm constantly forgetting the real name at first. He wants to be remembered for what he has already done, not to be remembered, he just wants to do it, to make paths to hearts.
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One morning, we fall on the hilly path, which is forty minutes away from the city, without stopping to look at the butterfly park and the paving stones that will be placed in front of the school.
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