Locusts and Dogs

The China-gal on the No. 2 coming back from Bugis this afternoon made them pay. First seat from the door facing the rest of the passengers in their rows through to the back of the bus. Engrossed on the phone to a girl-friend..

Large, big-boned lass straddling the seat crossways, hard nubs of shiny knees and glazed thighs giving pointers.

An unbroken stream that seemed to issue without intake of breath. She's the sort they made the old joke about in the other country: —released from lock-up with her best friend after twenty years together, the pair walk one another home the first afternoon, then parting at the gate:

— OK, I'll tell you the rest tomorrow.

Smooth and steady. Room only for the other to give occasional murmur.

Five days after NY still a deal of red sported: ripening cherry shorts, crimson bands across the blouse and bag. Eyes slide unseeing over the passengers.

What does she care? Nothing to do with her. In the milieu from where she has come holding up against the passing tide was learned early.

First to share her seat gives her daggers, needles, shards of broken glass. Petite old Malay near eighty. Plenty of room for her small frame. But that's not the point. Can't this she-devil see?! Hasn't she eyes in her head! Dress like that and legs spread. Damned viper. Hussy!

Once, twice and a third time casts directly at her, rolling each time and back again. Toothless jaw masticating her disgust. Smelly fat so-and-so....

Grannie carries a good deal more make-up on the oval circled by her scarf than the Snake would put on in a week. But just look at her for God's sake. Alamak!...

All the rings, chains, bracelets and nail polish—latter run over the edges—are Grannie's side; but how well she's hung it. Not displaying her nakedness cheaply, denigrating herself and all her kind!

Knee prodding; the other bouncing in rhythm with her rattle.

Enough for Grannie. No more, thank you very much. That'll do. Even a side seat where you are tossed pillar to post preferable to the squeeze next to such a creature.

Next in line Mr. Dweeb homeward bound to the wife and kids. A later model in hand, fingering the screen. So much slimmer. (Unlike his lumpy self.)

Dumpy/lumpy; no time for exercise. Sweets, fries and starch. One cheek and only one third-part second makes it onto the seat surface. No bother him, glad to get off his feet. Took the first vacant soon as he saw. Didn't give a look. Davos Forum cut, wife choosing his attire.

Hasn't stopped jabbering. Is her interlocutor still listening?

Chap has received a couple of once-overs. Two secs. enough. No mystery there.

She's going to Geylang. Fellow wasn't going to win a wager on that bet. Where else was she going on the No. 2? He's going somewhere along the line, but how far?

Vibrations gone up a notch. She's planted the foot and going fast hammer, really rollicking. Something her friend said on the other end of the line? Maybe.

All this referred from the right against the window pointing into Mr. Dweeb's thigh. The jitterbug passing through the pelvis and down into the biggest bone in Mr. Dweeb's body — the femur.

Invisible to the eye, but no shortage of electric charge. No question drilling, if not thrilling.

Wouldn't know it to look at him. Stuck on his screen. Neither sense nor feeling.

At some point she might have become annoyed at the woodenness. Not a flicker.

            Nothing doing here, waste of time.

Phone done suddenly, when it looked like she'd never stop — like the rain here this time of year.

Enquiry she's got on that piece of his. Looks good model. Gee, pretty compact. Slip into your pocket easy.

She wants to touch the screen, but only teasing, finger dangling.

His Mandarin not so flash, and the road noise. On his thigh he draws the figure he paid for it. Got on promotion(“sale” in S'inglish).

She knows where, nodding.

Leg slowed during the fishing. She can't both prod and think. 

At the least he's got a massage out of it gratis. Otherwise nada; not a goer in this instance. Gave it a try.

Got himself off unnoticed and she a couple of stops later. Nice little show that cost nothing.

A little illustration of matters not dissimilar up at HK currently. There they're suffering under the pressure of the uncouth Mainlanders coming down wanting a piece of the pie. Getting a lot of newspaper columns the recent case of China family on the train letting their kid gobble and dribble lunch when the by-laws strictly forbade. Told the position by one of the locals, must have been a bit of a to-do. Kicked up. Someone took a video looking to shame the intruders. Soon a Lit. Prof. from Peking Uni was standing up on TV chat show for the true-blue (Red) natives who had never been the "running dogs of the British,” the lackey kowtowing and grateful for scraps from the high table. 

Hong Kongers pissed at the loud brash uncultured cousins descending upon them like"locusts,” pushing in queues, letting their children pee in the streets, suddenly wanting the health-care of those who had worked for generations.

Southern hicks, country bumpkins, mountaineers descended onto the Riviera; &etc. &etc. Sin’pore all over again. (The undeniable economic powerhouse of the Mainland however.)

That gal was a cracker. (For safety reasons the real thing banned in SG for NY or otherwise some while back.