Writing begging letters

Bangkok, 17 March 2013.

Late afternoon and sprite, cola, a small bottle of Mhekong and a bucket containing ice on the table, writing paper, pen in hand and a whole lot of Bangkok's famous angels, the type that comes on high platform heels and dressed in G-strings, all around my table and excitedly awaiting their turn for a love letter to Mister Sugar Daddy back in fabled Europe that despite the Economic crises hitting hard and with determination, is still sending monthly "alimony" checks...or so these scarcely dressed young Isan rice farmers' daughters turned wh*res hope...

Outside under a sweltering heat  the hordes of Bangkok's office stiffs swarm out of high rise buildings, towering constructions of glass and concrete spewing forth sprawling overcrowded groups of Armani suited Farang expatriates and locals alike, jostling and elbowing for a bit of personal space, trying hard to make it to the Bangkok underground and skytrain, anything to keep moving and get home, to the airconditioned condo..

In the distant world outside this Soi Cowboy Go-Go bar called Suzie Wong, I can hear the soft hum of a teeming city, steady but far enough away to feel comfortable surrounded as I am by this harem of over-excited clan of Go-Go females...

I imagine metalic Bangkok city buses spewing big black sooty clouds of poison into an already overpolluted air making these so-called office workers cough and sufocate, gritty sooth acumulating in Farang expatriate lungs while I write Danish and German, English and Dutch begging letters, full with simple grammar and countless spelling mistakes as though the ladies themselves wrote them, telling love sick elder men in ancient Europe about a terminally conditioned mum and hungry children who all need the dough in due haste...

One lady tells me to write to her lover of one night she is on her "peliod" - they cannot pronounce the European R you know - "so me can not work", making me wonder seriously if hubby back in the Danish homeland will be really endeared into parting with his hard earned Kroener...I write it down anyway...

The heat of the day is beginning to fade though still laying heavily on the moist evening air by the time I leave, hailing a motorbike taxi to get home and relax, get the whiskey out of my system as well as the over-excited giggling and scarcely dressed members of that Isan clan of money hungry females...