The Chinaman at the adjacent table steps across to the little bamboo cylinder holding the table number, a couple of pencils and the breakfast slips for orders. Fingering inside. Fingering, fingering. Nup. Turns and moves on to the next table, vacant in this case. Same again; no joy there either. Hello. Excuse me. You don't mind? all omitted.
Might have had a turned eye.
Short little fella in his early fifties, hair-cut, clothing and manner making
him appear years older. Hard-to-keep-down type; resilient. Last few days a
couple of dozen in a tour group down for breakfast spread across the dining
area. The same town back home, or same factory or enterprise. Chap had been
seated at a table of four, a woman with three males.
A tooth-pick was the best wager. Done with his meal, he had lodgement. The woman at his table had found her pick earlier and was doing her row. She might have had her own little store. Last one perhaps, bad luck.
What kind of Four Star place is this crap? the knotted brow had flashed. After a further reconnoitre, the fellow pulled up a seat directly behind and started with some metallic tongue-clicking.TockTockTock. Yep, it was him alright.
Earlier the woman had watched for the reaction. Watched closely.
A tooth-pick was the best wager. Done with his meal, he had lodgement. The woman at his table had found her pick earlier and was doing her row. She might have had her own little store. Last one perhaps, bad luck.
What kind of Four Star place is this crap? the knotted brow had flashed. After a further reconnoitre, the fellow pulled up a seat directly behind and started with some metallic tongue-clicking.TockTockTock. Yep, it was him alright.
Earlier the woman had watched for the reaction. Watched closely.
The
tables were so close it was not necessary to meet her eyes. Close watching. Finally,
for her benefit more than anything, the fossicker was appraised as he moved
away. One of those blank, withering stares produced that a certain kind of
superior gives the more humble of the species, the more unfortunate and
benighted. Raised eyes over the rim of glasses; a brief tracking of the fellow
as he moved to the next table....
The
woman however waited for more. OK lady, OK. The smile too could not be denied
her; and duly returned. Hopefully the head wag was not too contemptuous or
dismissive.
Sucking his teeth a beauty. What else was he supposed to do, waiting for the bus and the others to finish?
Rich indeed. A fair old con presenting fine table manners to the new class of tourist unused to polite etiquette and ceremonial graces....
King-sized beds in the rooms. With a footy you could practice stab passes from door to window. Rock stars might trash such rooms after a night of high octane. Four lamps in addition to the spots and down-lighting. Up for re-election shortly, PM Najib puts on his Mona Lisa smile x 3 on a billboard hung high on a tower outside the window. Two hundred and eight ringgit a day equates to $Aus64.25 at yesterday's exchange rate. The brekkie Cornies and oats thrown in mighty welcome after fourteen months of noodles and rice. Reviews on-line complained about impolite staff, dirty carpet and the all-hours whirring of the Mono-rail immediately adjacent. (Natural inflection rather than the Singaporean Ascot voice for travel announcements in the trains deserves mention.) Downstairs kids play in the pool, girls with tees over their bathers. Two dozen cheap dives in the immediate vicinity, without a move being able to be made a full week now.
A half dozen stations to Sentral and short walk to Chow Kit, the red-light district and reputed drug haunt. No hint of the latter as yet. The ladies are confined to Indians and foreigners, and trannies without any surgery in the back lanes and along the river. Elsewhere in Malaysia prostitution is illegal; Chow Kit is the exception, as long as Malays are not involved apparently. (Transsexuals are deracinated for such purposes). A Malaysian version of Geylang, with the harder edge much more exposed and jagged.
The Pakistani quarter is a draw, for the theatre of the robes and shawls if nothing else. One can never tire of the brotherly greetings. Thus far the Pakistanis and Indians have been found to use the striking kissing-call to attract notice quite routinely—hailing both for waiters and passing friends. Punjabis work in the rag trade, Peshawari driving and in construction, Gudjarati the service sector, the waiter at Restoran Mehran informs. Sixteen years working in Malaysia, wife and four children back home, where he returns each year, or each other. A U.S Drone strike a few days back targeting three extremists killed fifteen people, one news item baldly stated, as if a member of the newsroom was making a subtle point for readers to draw their own conclusions.
Sucking his teeth a beauty. What else was he supposed to do, waiting for the bus and the others to finish?
Rich indeed. A fair old con presenting fine table manners to the new class of tourist unused to polite etiquette and ceremonial graces....
King-sized beds in the rooms. With a footy you could practice stab passes from door to window. Rock stars might trash such rooms after a night of high octane. Four lamps in addition to the spots and down-lighting. Up for re-election shortly, PM Najib puts on his Mona Lisa smile x 3 on a billboard hung high on a tower outside the window. Two hundred and eight ringgit a day equates to $Aus64.25 at yesterday's exchange rate. The brekkie Cornies and oats thrown in mighty welcome after fourteen months of noodles and rice. Reviews on-line complained about impolite staff, dirty carpet and the all-hours whirring of the Mono-rail immediately adjacent. (Natural inflection rather than the Singaporean Ascot voice for travel announcements in the trains deserves mention.) Downstairs kids play in the pool, girls with tees over their bathers. Two dozen cheap dives in the immediate vicinity, without a move being able to be made a full week now.
A half dozen stations to Sentral and short walk to Chow Kit, the red-light district and reputed drug haunt. No hint of the latter as yet. The ladies are confined to Indians and foreigners, and trannies without any surgery in the back lanes and along the river. Elsewhere in Malaysia prostitution is illegal; Chow Kit is the exception, as long as Malays are not involved apparently. (Transsexuals are deracinated for such purposes). A Malaysian version of Geylang, with the harder edge much more exposed and jagged.
The Pakistani quarter is a draw, for the theatre of the robes and shawls if nothing else. One can never tire of the brotherly greetings. Thus far the Pakistanis and Indians have been found to use the striking kissing-call to attract notice quite routinely—hailing both for waiters and passing friends. Punjabis work in the rag trade, Peshawari driving and in construction, Gudjarati the service sector, the waiter at Restoran Mehran informs. Sixteen years working in Malaysia, wife and four children back home, where he returns each year, or each other. A U.S Drone strike a few days back targeting three extremists killed fifteen people, one news item baldly stated, as if a member of the newsroom was making a subtle point for readers to draw their own conclusions.
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