Bangkok X

Souvenirs, I think, should be as useless as can be, like a magnet or a key chain. One may carry a coin pouch in their pockets but key chains! Who would buy such trash on their own? I remember receiving one too, in the shape of a turtle.

Buying such a worthless souvenir puts my mind at ease. A coin pouch may never be used, but a key chain may always be hung, somewhere, not necessarily on keys.

Other than this trinket of little significance, I've bought another one that is not only smaller in size but also more impractical in nature. If something can be said to be lesser than a key chain, then its significance wouldn't differ from that of a rock by the roadside. Nonetheless, I paid for it.

Cabbages and Condoms is a restaurant catered to white people. If you're Asian, you'll be disappointed by the food. Sweet, and not spicy in the least, my last supper in Bangkok left me dissatisfied, craving for Tom Yum that would leave my lips swollen, nose dripping.

The Lovebirds have gone off to some night market around Siam Square. Too tired, and a little short on funds, I've retreated back into the cool space of the hostel.

Lazing around the common room, I smell the sweat drenched socks of a Japanese man. From the sheen on his uncut hair comes the betrayal that he hasn't washed it for a day or two now. I'm reminded of how Yoshioka and Nagashima lived during their university days, submerged in filth and only visiting the public baths every so often.

That oily sheen could really just be his hair styling product, but that's none of my business. I just wish he'd change his socks.

Another American movie that I've already watched is being screened. It's the one with Matt Damon and space travel.

For once I see the receptionist away from her post. She's lying on the couch, playing a phone game. Even while resting, those eyes are peering into the blue lights of a screen.

Nobody is paying attention to the movie.