Cambodian grass

Cambodia, Phnom Penh, Boeng Kak Lake Area,
24-02-2010.

My room at the Green Lake guest house was a small cell-like place, claustrophobic and damp, hot at night while trying to fall asleep, with a dirty tiny bathroom where I could barely turn my bare *ss. Barking dogs snapping at my heels when returning home and local prostitutes in the restaurant, dope-pushing staff more interested selling soft Cambodian grass then correctly adding my beer consumption to my bill, a dank alley so typically Asian with open living-rooms from which emerge the sounds of family life, TV and children...

Instead I moved down the road where the hustlers are absent, not offering me all the vices of life whether it be boy or girl of questionable age, cocaine or heroine, local grass or Thai Yaa-Baa, speed and amphetamine should be seriously considered, a 18 year old lady of the night that looks like she just left her puberty or maybe is still in full bodily development...my new hotel is just a mere hunderd meters down the dusty and busy road but is a mayor improvement despite the neighbors marital disputes last night, but then I was well under the influence of the aforementioned Cambodian soft grass...so their arguements were more of a laugh than a hassle....

delivering me mental freedom from the turmoils my gray brain mass was going through, green leaves reinforcing the notion of Miss Ohn's messy death, reminding me fully of Miss Moo's present on-coming demise, in my mind's eye she is still lying there on that stupid foldable beach chair, the lustre gone from her once lively eyes, waiting for the inevitable....

This grass feel a bit like Nong is doing her little Karen magic on my stupid Farang mind again, her local superstitious parlor tricks, somehow always reminding me that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from simple rural magic that often goes back thousands of years