Clean (has to be said)

Sweep appearing beside the table suddenly out of nowhere, thin air, like a bird of augury somehow decked in his yellow feathers and sliding bright-eyed glare. Almost a gasp escaping at his silent, unannounced arrival. Two feet out from the gutter a single, solitary butt had been invisible until the man sprung into action. One and then a quick follow-up second sweep with his brush-broom straight into the pan held in the other hand. A hole-in-one. The second sweep had been unnecessary, went in first time. Under arm the rake, handle rising above his shoulder (long rakes standard municipal contractor issue - no excuses), yellow wellies and vest. Don't want him run over; every reasonable precaution. Under the baseball cap salt and pepper top and deeply tanned—possibly from the streets, or just as likely the hill village from which he originally hails. Quick looks down the lorong opposite where he knows the girls lurk in the deep shadows, the glitter of their wear occasionally caught in the lights of the cornering cars. In all and everything quite deceptive: the man has some way to go to forty; signs of maturity beyond his years. Won't make it back home for NY. Remittance dollars will sweeten the event for parents, wife and child back there; for himself perhaps some comfort found in his favourite local gal. Seven full months without a single, solitary look returned from any of the street-sweeps over the whole of the term. Not a one. Passing through completely unheeding like a dignified desirable woman in a room-full of men. Table here ten inches from the gutter where they work, where they seek their hoard, their special province. How many of them come and gone over the course, without any meaningful distinction between them: age, size, stature, colouration, firmness. Never raising their eyes. Keeping the streets clean an earnest project here; justly deserved fame for it; badge of honour, source of pride. How many foreign visitors going away to sing the eulogies of Singapore's clean streets.... The antiseptic charge falling on deaf, uncomprehending ears. What can those foreigners be on about?... An elevation above the muck, their inheritance. Shows how far they've come; in this wider Asian slum. Feature writer in the ST today concentrated her tourist piece on the grime of India: for all the colourful temples, street scenes, cheap shopping and culinary experiences, the dirt and grime, toilets especially.... It's alright in the hotels. They're up to scratch, the better kind. But fair warning, you wouldn't want to be caught out on the streets if you could help it. Unwanted constant reminder of where they've come from.