Sita
“You have room 19, ma’am.” Said the lady I was asked to speak to.
She was thick, like a South African baddie, and she was a little particular about her look because she wanted everybody to know she was the hottest and thickest in camp, if not, her clothes could have been a little more decent.
“19, isn’t that very much inside than I would like?” I asked.
She looked around as though she didn’t want someone to hear us from the wrong corner, as though she was hiding something from every other person around in the camp.
“You know, you don’t understand this place.” She whispered with a smile. “The French are so clever, they make their things look little, but when you go closer, you will realize it is rather bigger than you think.”
I rolled my eyes. who doesn’t know the b
