Dorian on a balcony

Dorian stood on the balcony, a salvia cigarette dangled from his lips and a hot cup of poppy java was in his hands.  The sun was beginning to rise over the flotilla of interlocking boats.  The village floated around the remaining economic and political centers of Indonesia, as if spokes around a hub.

Beneath him, small merchant paddle boats navigated the space between the larger boats, bringing the quiet early morning to life.  As the merchants shouted their goods, the women came out to the decks of their homes and bartered for supplies.

Dorian flicked his cigarette into the green-brown water and sipped his coffee, watching the kiosks move on to the next large grouping.  Lighting a second marijuana cigarette Dorian went inside his room and got dressed.  Then Dorian went into his suitcase and grabbed a mat, placing it in his daybag.

Dorian left the boat, using the planks that connected each of the boats.  He stopped in the nearest aqua-square, and made his way to the large platform in the middle.  In the back Dorian unrolled his mat and knelt down, joining the other Jenysis practitioners.