I knew, on the 29th of January, that it was gonna be trouble.
Sometimes you can feel it. There’s that little jingling bell in the back of your mind, or some sort of “spidey sense” that says that something significant just happened. Sometimes you understand it… sometimes not. Often I don’t know exactly what is wrong, just that something is wrong.
On the 29th of January I knew exactly what it was, but I shook off the feeling because the lady involved was someone I’d dealt with for nearly three years and I told myself that it wouldn’t be a problem.
The nurse is on my mind because I just got off the phone with her.
The nurse is one of those bad ideas that sometimes overtake me and involve me against my better judgement.
The nurse isn’t just a “good” Thai girl… she’s a VERY good Thai girl. Sweetness, innocence and purity of heart all rolled into one very adorable package.
Everything bad you could say about most Thai bar girls simply doesn’t apply to her. She is well-educated, hard working and naive. She doesn’t sleep all day — in fact she often works 16-hour shifts and has to catch naps where possible. Money — or the grasping love of money — seems a foreign concept to her. She lives simply and gently in the world.
At the same time she looks like a go go dancer. Not tall, she has a beautiful Thai face with deep brown skin, heavy eyebrows, cat-like eyes and a radiant smile. She looks like every Isaan princess I have ever known but she is not from Isaan.
And she does look sexy with that little white cap on.
I started early today, drinking with several friends. I ended up going out to a club around 10 p.m. with a half dozen people even though I was way to tired. Couldn’t stay awake, and headed outside to grab a cab home at 11.
I snoozed in the cab, and woke up just in time to hop out in front of my building.
I normally cut my own hair. I have a set of electric clippers that I bought a decade ago in Australia, and every few days I pull them out and cut the fuzzy fringe that used to be my hair.
This morning I went into the toilet to get my shower. My toilet is a small, closet-sized affair where the water from the shower simply sprays onto the floor and exits via a floor-drain in the corner.
I turned on the water and started to reach for the soap, when it occured to me that I should probably trim my hair first. So I turned off the water and went for the clippers.
Along with lots and lots of other people I attended the Daywalker Birthday Bash at the Big Mango. The party came alive in a big way, especially in the later part of the evening when a group of bargirls who were at the party got pretty rambunctious.
I had two (relatively) “good” Thai girls with me at the party, and they ended up a bit offended by some of what went on at the party. In part they were bothered by the very forward behaviour of the bargirls, and also upset by some of the things they heard from the male customers and some of the things they saw the male customers doing.
Both of these girls have been to the Mango before, so it’s not that they shouldn’t have been in “a place like that”, but rather that the party ended up much rowdier than has been usual in past Mango parties.
Anyway…
Sometime late — I’m guessing it was around midnight — I took out my wallet and paid my meager bill (most of the beer and all the food had been free all night) and decided to go home. I was in a bit of a bad mood because my two female companions had left a bit unhappy and a few minutes later I got into a bit of a disagreement with one of the girls that works at the Mango.
I hit the street grumpy, and decided that I’d walk home rather than take a taxi.
It seems like nearly every problem I have in Bangkok starts with me walking out of a bar late at night and deciding to walk home instead of getting a cab. You’d think I’d learn.
Well, some things have changed and some have stayed the same.
The tattoos are still there… maybe some new ones, I’m not sure.
The bleached highlights are gone from the hair, and it’s back to it’s natural color. But the hair hasn’t been cut in months, and rather than the moussed bad-boy look it’s simply an unruly mass of mouse-brown hair.
He’s bigger. Not taller, but wider through the chest, shoulders and biceps.
His fingernails are painted a deep burgundy-red color.
When I first saw him he was wearing sunglasses indoors, with ragged shoes that probably should have been thrown out a year ago, and carrying a small duffel bag full of gear.
The cry of “Wolf!”, which is what he calls me, was the thing that alerted me to the fact that I was in the presence of Young Penfold once again.
The nurse is on my mind because I just got off the phone with her.
Thursday night was interesting.
