JB Lottery

Hardship back on these JB streets over the Causeway here everywhere you look. The Indian girl at the eatery opposite the old, decommissioned railway station more than a little incredulous at the sixty cent tip. (About 20c Australian.)
— Are you sure?
To the other waiter who has come up behind her the girl raises the three silver coins, using a word similar to "baksheesh" to explain herself. The owner or manager possibly by his bright eagerness.
A Muslim Indian. English more than serviceable; then Bahasa Malay, Hindi and Urdu (she must not take undue credit here: there is little difference between these two, she informs) and "Chinese". In descending order of competency it seemed. The kind of girl from a county town back home possibly, if they still exist — dairy or tatters — who never got out much, shy stay-at-home with large, rounded limbs. Back over the Causeway the Malays wear a great deal of make-up, lip-stick, long, extended lashes beneath their scarves; not the Indian Muslims, this girl here the same. Nothing shy about this lass however. Perfectly firm and settled, clear-minded. Not far off there will be an arranged marriage; as in the case of Yuan back home, that decision assumed by the parents relieves the anxiety over the daunting matter.
A second chap appears selling little leaflets that he makes flap in his waving hand, rather like a street poet in aspect. The first fellow, the one who preceded him, had more ginger, was more infused with his mission. Still, like the inspired poet, this fellow too is keen to find his audience. And there are plenty interested. These sheets however hold numbers of some kind rather than verses, in a grid arrangement. Some boldly marked; a series below in smaller font.
The guess was mathematical odds for the lottery numbers. Or else some kind of necromancy-numerology in the same vein. Largely a Chinese clientele was involved. You don't have to guess about a casino in Muslim majority Malaysia. Not likely.
McDonalds ads in Bahasa blaring from the screen at the back near the counter; then later the surprise of Gillard reaffirming the national interest in Afghanistan. (The Malays might have their own thoughts on that matter, Madame PM.)
This second chap's selling technique is simply perching on the pillar at the head of the pedestrian crossing and jitter-bugging the hand holding the sheaf of papers, B5, printed cheaply over in here. (A writer friend from back over the Causeway has all his work printed in JB.) In some poses it almost looks like the fellow's catching a non-existent breeze: fully stretched long arm with elbow pivoting from the knee. Highly practiced. The chap earlier, shorter, same age (early sixties) dashed across the paving here from one likely Chinese customer to another. Both of the vendors were likewise Chinese; the same as two more later on the walk back nearer hotel Meldrum.
Across on the other side of the road could only be working girls under the veranda of the bank on the corner — prime position likewise and good, soft lighting. A second and then a third joined over the hour or so. There was definitely no beat there three months ago. And even though they can't be made out from a distance, you can bet the ladies concerned will only be Chinese; not Malay. Indians work a little further along, about a dozen closely bunched.
As it turns out, the guesswork was slightly askew. These street pedlars are in fact selling advance notice of the day's lottery results. In the morning the lucky numbers will be printed in the newspaper. Cost: RM1.30. If you want to know the night before: 50c. from these chaps on the corners. (The ringgit yesterday was around $Aust0.30.)
Someone in the ...."underground" of the government regulated lottery lets the cat out of the bag a few hours early. Ten cents the informant — an obliging Chinese stall-holder selling leather goods — estimates for paper and printing costs. About three cents Australian. Possibly slightly inflated. It's a living of some kind no doubt for at least four men on Jalan Tun Abdul Razak here in Johor Bahru.
... Opposite two of the working girls had perhaps hooked. The one remaining, the first, the tall, robust one who had appeared before the others, turned out a daunting lady-boy, raw and stubbled, with little masking or adornment apart from the dress. Impossible to intrude on her for details.

NB. Even with an Australian passport, only 90 day stays permitted in Singapura without a work pass or the like. This is second-time round in Johor Bahru; twice previously the exit point was Batam, Indonesia. The intention had been to take the bus early afternoon direct to Malacca. Unannounced, the bloody thing was canceled. Intending the train in the morning from here; almost double the time of the bus, but with scenery, kampungs and small country stations en route, perhaps worth it.