Uffe, the Dane, is maybe 50 years old, over 2 meters tall, blonde and blue-eyed, as a good scandinavian should be.
Uffe: I got cut in Delhi and I ALWAYS ask for a new blade but that time, that ONE time, I didn't [points to scar at corner of mouth], so I'll have to be tested when I get home, I mean I could have The AIDS, you never know, the foremost buddhist in america, [he gives unintelligibly murmured name]-
Heather: Who?
Uffe: You know, [unintelligibly murmured name], died of The AIDS but not before infecting 30 of his disciples, 30 of his OWN disciples, like satan he knew he was going down and had to take everyone down with him!
John: I don't think the barber tried to give you The, er, AIDS. You shouldn't think like that about people.
Uffe: No, no, he didn't try to, but his ignorance, in India it's their ignorance, that did. It's like in Africa, millions of orphans, millions, because, you know, they, there they all ... in the huts together and what have you. But it's very much possible I am now sick. Oh, in Thailand and Vietnam the buddhist monks shaving their heads every day, sharing blades, a big problem there. I know about the transmission of these things, you know, my degree, I have a degree in, uh, in, um, well, you know, er, doesn't matter. Ok, I won't talk anymore. I never talk, not even to myself, ha, it's like an over-stuffed closet, you know, it's like a soup in my head sometimes.
Surendra (owner of the guest house): What? You are making a juice?
Uffe: No, not juice, SOUP! Soup, you know, we're all in this soup together, we've all got our finger in the pie...
