Beastly is a curious word, childish and old-fashioned, the sort of word you would find in an illustrated children’s book. Beastly. The word has been corrupted. For the original meaning, like a beast, would surely have packed descriptive punch. Instead, ‘Oh, you beast!’ sounds diminutive, feminine, weak. I hold to its original power: literally having the attributes of a beast. What sort of beast? A lion? A Bear? I can’t decide. Both seem apt when I think of Juan. Then again, considering his height, he’s more giraffe-like, but that isn’t what I mean either. He’s a mythical beast, an evil beast, a hellhound.
Two years have passed since I last locked eyes with him and I would have preferred never to have thought of him again, but Philip mentioned him at breakfast for no reason that I can reca
