IBO by Brian R. Lundin (best books for 20 year olds .txt) 📖

there were three candles on the card table. A big box was situated in one corner that contained crushed beer and soda cans. Clean clothes and towels were folded over the branch of a tree that had been pulled under the tarp. Malik, Askido, Pops and the old man joined the old woman at the table as she poured them a cup of tea into paper cups; the little girl brought them sugar in another paper cup. They drank their tea as Askido and the old man talked. When they finished their tea Askido got up and handed the old man a roll of Thai money. Malik saw tears in the eyes of the old man and woman as they way their way out under the tarp.
When they arrived back at the limo the rain had stopped and the humidity was worse.
“Who were those people?” Malik asked.
“Nobody really, just a family trying to survive,” she answered sadly.
“Is that where they live?” pop’s asked.
“Yes, they have nowhere else to go. They are just one family out of many who was displaced by the war years ago. After the Americans left Vietnam, the whole area was in turmoil, not only Vietnam but also Cambodia and Thailand. Most of these people are from Cambodia and Vietnam who fled their ancestral homes to avoid being persecuted or killed by the North Vietnamese and they sought sanctuary here in Thailand.
They slept in doorways and under the highway underpasses. They were outside the big hotels and on the street corners with their begging signs and shaking their begging cups. However, they became an eyesore, the government concerned about the image they portrayed to the tourist, passed a law banning them from the city, and they were removed, sometimes forcibly. So, they burrowed like termites into these woods and hillsides where they live in makeshift camps just a few miles from million dollar homes and hotels. The people you met were from where I grew up and I have known them all my life and I try to help them every chance I get.”
Malik thought about the many homeless and poor people living in Chicago but they were better off than the people living under the tarps were. It seemed poor people all over the world were in a kind of drain that pulled them towards a spot where they swirled around in a deep concentration of hopelessness and despair, he too had almost been swept into that drain.
“We’re thinking about checking Germany and Paris care to go?” Malik said to Askido.
“Yeah, that’s sounds good, there are some people I need to in Paris anyway,” Askido said.
Malik and Pops stayed in Bangkok for three more days. They met Askido at the airport and they boarded the plane for Germany. They arrived at the Munich airport, rented a car, and drove around the city. Malik noticed all the United States military bases and he noticed there were many black servicemen and their family in the city. At the airport, Malik noticed how the custom agents very seldom checked the bags of the women with children.
“Ready to check Paris out,” Malik asked Pops and Askido.
“Good to go my man,” Pops said and Askido nodded.
They arrived in Paris the next morning and checked into the Paris Ritz Hotel. Askido had a brief conversation with the concierge in French. She told Pops and Malik she had asked the concierge to rent a car and a driver for them and it would be there in two hours. She suggested they freshen up and meet at the hotel bar in two hours. Malik was amazed at how knowledgeable Askido was, like in Thailand she seemed at home in Paris. They met at the bar at noon and a four door Porsche was parked at the curb. It was a warm day but there was a slight breeze scented with the pleasant smell of flowers, but the humidity was not as bad as Chicago Malik noticed, while Askido talked in French to the driver.
“Any place in particular you guys would like to see?” Askido said.
“What about that fancy museum where they have all those expensive paintings, and that tall building.” Pops asked.
“You must be talking about the Louvre Museum and the Eiffel Tower,” Askido said.
“Yeah, that’s it. I like to watch those old war movies and they always show those Nazi guys marching proudly into Paris,” Pops replied.
As the Porsche accelerated from the curb Askido said, “This is the market district and it’s called the Quais and that river,” she said pointing to a deep blue river “is the Seine and it is opened only open one day a week. In foul or fair weather, even in the winter the vendors will be out here selling their goods. The dealers usually get here very early and set up their tables and the police close down the street.”
The street was filled with customers. They passed street vendors wheeling carts of flowers and candies, hand-painted signs advertised deep discounts on clothing, spices, African gold jewelry, pots and pans. Faint music could be heard coming from the sidewalk café. The tinkle of china and crystal, excited voices of the tourist and the carefree laughter of the people filled the streets. A very dark skinned woman was selling silver earrings and bracelets, men were carrying bags of garbage from restaurants and young lovers were casually strolling hand in hand. The car slowed as they saw the illuminated profile of the Tower.
“This is called the most romantic spot on the globe,” Askido said as she instructed the driver to pull over and park.
“It is magnificent,” Malik said.
“The Tower is the symbol of France, it is a thousand-foot icon of all that France is,” Askido said proudly. “They have walking tours where you can walk to the top and get a splendid view of the city, but it is a long walk.
“Maybe next time,” Malik said.
When they reached the intersection at Rue de Rivoli they were stopped by a red light. When the light changed, they passed the wooden section of Rue Castiglione, which was the northern entrance to the Tuileries Garden, which has often been compared to New York’s Central Park.
“Claude Monet painted some of his most famous pieces in this Garden,” Askido said.
“Who?” Pops asked.
“Monet was a famous painter,” Malik said.
They drove pass a giant archway and Askido said, “That is the Arc du Carrousel, artists and art aficionados from all over the world come here for inspiration, plus four of the finest art museums in the world could be seen from here… one at each point on the compass. South is the Musee d’ Orsay, west is the Museum of Modern Art and there is also the Pompidou Center and Musee du Jeu de Paume.”
Straight ahead and through the archway, Askido pointed out the most famous art museum in the world, the Musee du Louvre. Askido instructed the driver to park, they got out the car, and walked across the overwhelming expansive plaza, the Louvre rose like fortress against the bright blue Paris sky.
“The Louvre is the longest building in Europe. It is longer than three Eiffel Towers lay end to end and it is over three miles long,” Askido said.
The plaza was full of people taking pictures or eating lunch on one of the many benches and tables. They stopped and watched as a young woman seated behind an easel was painting the museum. The entrance to the museum was as famous as the museum itself. It had a seventy-one foot tall transparent glass pyramid, which was designed by the Chinese-born American architect I.M. Pei and was commissioned by the late French President Francois Mitterand.
When they entered, the Museum ushers gave them a map, which highlighted the galleries that contained the three most famous paintings in the world, the Mona Lisa, Venus de Milo and Winged Victory. He also told them there were 65,300 pieces of art in the museum.
The Grand Galley was like a long deep canyon. The barren walls rose thirty feet and seemed to disappear into the darkness above and a reddish service light tilted upwards cast a shadow on the staggering collection of the works of Da Vinci, Titian, and Carravaggo.
“What would you estimate the value of these paintings?” Malik asked Askido.
“Priceless, these paintings are so famous that even if some enterprising thief was able to steal them he couldn’t sell them are too well known, the Da Vinci’s alone would be valued in the billions of dollars.”
“Excuse me,” Askido said.
Malik watched her as she walked away.
“Piss break,” Pops said as he studied the Mona Lisa.
Malik watched as Askido approached a man standing in front of the Last Supper. The man was stocky and short and had a dark olive colored complexion, but more Italian than black. He was dressed in expensive light brown pants and shirt. He kissed Askido on both cheeks and shook her hand. They had a brief conversation and Askido returned.
“Sorry but business is business,” she said.
Askido was an excellent tour guide she pointed out the Arc de Triomphe and other magnificent Paris landmarks. They drove down the Foch, the widest, grandest thoroughfare in Paris, which was lined with handsome, white stone facades. They stayed in Paris for two more days. Malik and Pops boarded the plane for Chicago and Askido flew back to Bangkok. When they arrived at Chicago’s O’Hare Airport, Malik observed how there were separate custom stations for people arriving from Africa, Asia Central America, Mexico and the Far East and there was another custom station for people arriving from Germany, France and England and other stations for people arrive from other parts of the world. The agents inspecting the arrivals from Germany and England were very casual and friendly, but the agents inspecting arrivals from Africa, Asia, Central America, Mexico and the Far East were a lot more diligent and official. Pops and Malik cleared customs and took a cab to Robert Taylor. They agreed to meet again in a couple of days and formalize their plans. Malik got home that morning about one thirty, his mother was asleep on the couch and Joyce met him at the door.
“Hi Malik how was your flight?”
“Long and tiring,” he said.
“I made a cake today; want a piece and some milk?” Joyce asked.
“That’s sound good, Joyce, How you doing?”
Sadly, Joyce said, “I’m worried about mom and the boys Malik, mom is so hooked on crack she’s giving blowjobs for a bag. Since Ralph and Bennie got out the jail John has been hanging out with them, they’re going to get him in trouble. They stay out all night, and they’re high most of the time. The other night moms were so high she offered to give Bennie a blowjob; she did not even recognize her own son. There is constant fighting between the gangs and they shoot all night, I’m afraid that somebody going to shoot in here or the police is going to knock on the door and tell me that moms or one of the boys is dead, I don’t know what to