Entry No.16

[khunsanuk]

The King of NanaPlaza

 

At night he was in Nana Plaza. Swaggering laughingly through the walkways, the bars knew him even better than the girls. If a girl didn't know him, it meant that she was the newbie. Sometimes it bored him. Now he could look at a girl, instantly sum her age, time spent working in the bar, Thai boyfriend and kid status and he'd be right. That sort of gift takes its toll. Sometimes you actually wish to be innocent. He paused to lean out over a third floor balcony and he was captain of the whole swaying ship. Swigging the consolation beer swept from the last turkey shoot cut short, he wondered where to go next.

 

Outside Nana, a girl was looking at him strangely, like she knew him from way before. This was a hazard of doing the rounds. At first it had got to him. He'd been the one lying awake at night, loves long lost tumbling over Nana's gaudy shelves. He used to think a lot about them. A different girl would take her turn each night and he'd start: Whatever happened to her? What was she doing now? Did she ever think of him? But as he got older, those concerns dropped off him. As they should, he thought. At last you understand and accept it in the way they always did. So he ignored her, in the best possible way, of course.

 

Yellow streams of taxis dribbled their way to Soi Cowboy. Sometimes there was the attempt at conversation but more often not. Wrapped in the sweet protective suit of alcoholic bliss, he couldn't be bothered to joke with the driver anymore. What was the point? Did he really need another half-hearted acknowledgment of his barely passable Thai? These days, he'd rather sink into his seat and, at the most, speculate on what the hell this average country man thought of the strange, pleasure-set foreigner sat next to him. What did this poor wretch go home to? But the question that was always uppermost in his mind was: does this driver really know just how much fun I'm having?

 

After a while, he was too automatic to even flash the driver the old conspiratorial grin when he got out. Just do it cold, before or after Asoke, depending on the lights and pay the forty baht. Thirty five, if you have it. Why waste extra on fares? But don't waste time. Stride towards the neon. Hunt down the fun.

 

One of the most tricky decisions of his daily life was which way to tackle Soi Cowboy. Honestly. Which way do you start? Up or down, left or right? Given the vagaries of the pleasure market, it's more vital than it first seems and it got him every time. Today, he went straight for the big bars. Scout the talent, make contact, do a quick round up of the lesser venues and return if he couldn't find anything better. In other words, shop around.

 

It's easier if you're young, by the way. The girls have their favourites. Even here, there's still a slight advantage to relative youth, as there is to being able to speak a semblance of Thai. But the best one is to know the scene. The girls feel comfortable with those who know the score. They can relax in the knowledge that there won't be any uncomfortable moments and, most of all, that this man won't do anything to embarrass them. That's a more important factor than you'd think. And he knew the score.

 

But he wasn't young anymore, officially. He hadn't heard the call of "young boy" for six years. That's how you know. Not that he was quite old yet either. But he'd increasingly noticed younger men than him in the bars and with that came an unusual feeling he thought he'd left behind: jealousy. Looking at these carefree young gods now, he saw himself eight years ago and he wondered what they saw when they looked back. Not that they were likely to notice him through the sea of G-strings swarming the stage. How long can you keep doing this, he thought. No one wants to be one of those old men sitting sadly on the sides but you will be, in time. Quiet moments in bars. And then a favourite song clicked in and this one was gone. Might as well have fun while it lasts, he thought.

 

In Bangkok go-go bars, most men drink alone and this is the way he preferred it. You may risk the odd maudlin moment this way but when the pleasure comes it's unbeatable; self-gratification undiluted by the cares of friends. He lay back and knew he could have any woman in the room. His unremarkable yet passable looks and easy bar charm still translated well in the scene and, after all, it's all relative anyway. Jumping up, he eased a couple of the more delectable girls into his sofa-seat and ordered six tequilas. This would do while he flicked through his mental little black book.

 

An expat, unmistakeable in his puffed crispy shirt, entered the bar with a couple of visiting suits and soon corralled chirping girls and chits into a posse of organised fun. Somehow, the sounds never seemed quite right - false delight, the enjoyment rarely fully blooded. One of the chosen ones, the guy probably didn't even know it. Yet it was this type he envied the most and he nearly always tried to creep nearer to these gatherings, as if maybe somehow, one day, the luck would seep in and he'd know how to get there.

 

Rolling the blankets over to get the cooler side, he turned in his effort to sleep. The air outside was warm and thick but the streets were empty and dull. There was no smell of hawker's food, no air con inside, and it wasn't Bangkok. This was his real home, the one where he was stuck and not where he belonged. It happened every night. Trying to get to sleep, thinking of a way to get back. At least I'm probably not alone in this, he thought, before he fell, once again, into Nana Plaza.

 

[khunsanuk]

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[bibblies]

11 days later. Still like the Yellow taxis streaming bit...Whatchatalkinboutjosh? ::

[changnoi]

I like this one because it evokes an atmosphere you could stir with a stick.

 

It's also short and sweet, possibly a prerequisite for on-line reading.

 

I'm not so sure about dribbling yellow streams of taxis, but I've stood on one of the pedestrian bridges looking east along Sukhumvit and visualised the "red spaghetti" effect of a long exposure take on the taxis' rear lights.

[bibblies]

Thanks, but I thought you were going to lay into it. I feel cheated!

 

Lots of style (even trying to be objective I reckon it had the best original metaphors, similes and descriptions in the whole competition : but style alone does not make a piece. Right away, I thought: "1000 words isn't enough to do more than one basic idea" and my idea was that of yearning back to Nana, a feeling which, I thought, many others might share. So it starts at the last paragraph and the rest builds into it. But, if that was the main idea, then the middle doesn't really decide how to develop it satisfactorily. (I started to think of Fiery Jack's recent 'What am I really doing here?' laments and got diverted - that's my excuse! :