KRISTEN Journal Mission | Jespionne


Journal Entry March 2018

The sun is out and it’s beating down on my back and it’s making me wish I was in an air conditioned room somewhere at a Basel event. Somewhere in Basel there’s posh people in there probably wanting to be out here where I am, out in what feels like a desert, but really, the desert is shit. It’s hot like Miami, except here you really do feel like you can’t breathe.

I’ve got another couple of days here on my mission and every day it’s seeming to just get harder. And yet something tells me I’ve already met the guy who I’m hot on the trail for, that I’ve passed him, or I’ve missing something. There is not a chance that I’m letting this guy slip from me, because let’s face it, I’m the only person who can get the job done.
Sometimes I wish I had a little help though, just a little. I’ve still got bruises and cuts all up and down my left leg, and not enough time to just take a breather. This car they’ve given me is just not cutting it. Where can I find a mechanic in the middle of Afghanistan? I’ll tell you where, nowhere. Give me some new wheels, a shining new engine, and I already would’ve been well on my way on a plane to the Bahamas about three days ago. Instead I’ve got this hunk of junk here and I’m moving at a snails pace and the frustration sure is building, isn’t it?

I never wonder to myself why they send just a girl out here on her own to get the bad guys. I just do it, because I’m the only one that can. After this I want to take a break and get to Daytona, god, I can’t believe I became one of those people that’s eager to visit Daytona. Everywhere north of Miami and everybody looks like they do meth in the back of of a Dave ’n Busters or they’re old and look like Richard Simmons on meth, there’s really no in between. But I miss the palm trees, I miss the coffee, I miss my home away from home away from home. I miss all the assholes that can’t drive right on the road, so I have to be an asshole right back. I'm just wondering if this is all worth it. If it’s worth it when I look back and I’m old, and I can't do anything because my back will give out and my legs have been broken over and over and I can't walk straight. I guess it’s worth it. A few mojitos are definiely owed to me. All I have with me is this flask with warm backwash of whatever was leftover from last night. Sometimes I forgot that I’m not indestructible. I can’t have people ever know that though! That would just be ridiculous.

Meena Jehan



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