You
might not be surprised there's nothing whatever of X here G. Last few days i've
only been going betw Lt. Ind and Geylang Serai. Nada. No fairy lights, no
bunting, socks, deer. FA. Have to laugh. An old Java man look-a-like from the
schoolbooks in our day has taken a shine to me and my charity lately. Most
mornings he bellows some kind of hunting call from behind my morning table at Mr.
T. T., blindsiding on his approach. Ah, Mr. Indigenous. It's you is it?
Hello you old rascal…. Pagi, morning. Pull up a pew…. Some little
malarkey gets the ball rolling. Chap knows his pal's always busy, note-taking,
circling items in the paper. The headshaking puzzles him. What the devil's that
about?... Laughs. Always measures his ask, knows what he's about of course,
geyser his age. Nothing straightaway.... When it comes it's the clutch at the
parched throat and screwing up the eyes like desert scenes in the silent
flicks. Always damn hot of course, even in December. Finger and thumb showing
the measure of the glass. If only he could get one. The little zippered pouch
on the table with the pens and papers holds the coin, he knows. Indicates with a
finger. You gunna rescue a pal, or not? Most of the chat is mutually
incomprehensible. Man camps out in Toa Payoh apparently, yet takes the 67 which
doesn't go out there. Commun. breakdown. A heavy ring makes a clang on the
table-top punctuating the halting conversation. HaHaHa. The approaching event
he has been anticipating more than a week now. Jingle bells, Jingle bells.... Saya
bulom pergi? You goin back when?... How you supposed to keep a straight
face? Got the ol buzzard pegged at eighty two or three. Someone washes, shaves
and cuts his hair, pares his nails. Probably best of the threads is the white BOY
tee he sports every once in a while. Rip Curl surfer shorts if you can
believe it. No $2 Chin-wear from the outlets up the road for this fella. Must
be an educated daughter or grand loving him to bits. Decided he doesn't need
the dosh so keeping it to fifty cents every second day. One morning a hoot
tricking him with one of the new fifties. Smaller, close to the buck and about
the same weight. The feel of it had him pretty satisfied. Look-see that
followed however transformed the visage. Jowls dragged south, hang-dog
miserable. What?!!... They don't give for that anywhere. Whadya think this is?
That's
the extent of it here in my quarter. There've been carols in the supermarket that
you have to duck, almost nothin else. You could easily forget the whole show.
Happy
Merry your side. Y’ll enjoy the socks & hankies.
Cheers
P
P.S.
Two virtual cards arrived early on the Eve now, from the same sender, Era the
Minangkabau, Central Sumatra. Morning haney. Happy marry krestmas. And
the correction quickly following: Morning honey happy merry crestmas
Geylang
Serai, SG Dec 2013
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