Bangkok V

Sitting by the stone steps of Krung Thong Plaza entrance, I wait for my sister, empty-handed. Having bought not even half a piece of rag, I sit here, breathing in thick discharges of carbon monoxide and wonder when my enthusiasm had died.

There is a semi-blind lady with a speaker hanging from her neck that's blasting Thai music. An empty plastic container rests a top the speaker. What else can she be but a beggar? One of the many who lie, and sometimes roam, on the busy streets of Bangkok like discarded garbage being pulled along by drafts of soot-filled city wind. Theirs is indeed a pitiful situation, but the us who come to this city in search of a getaway that doesn't demand too much of our nearly emptied pockets, are but beggars with a roof over our heads. As these disabled citizens have chosen to roam the streets with a paper cup in hand, we, a little more able, have chosen to sell our existence to our faceless masters whose feet we grovel at for money.