Condo Rondo

Malaysian Security at the gate needed the form filled in and signed. Block 10 straight ahead. Kristie running late allowed a little gander. Clean neat lobby without anything fancy, notice-board by the lift confirming what had long been reported: No unsightly washing permitted hanging out on poles at condominiums. HDBs the practice was allowed. They had dryers in the condos. Garden neat and clean, gazebo one side and BBQ pit another. Pool not visible. (A gym and pool was dangled in the ad. Presumably at the base of another of the towers.) Immediately a dog-walker, a busty young Indo lass pulled along on a leash. Indian painting crew down on terra firma outta their cage, DULUX Let’s Colour tees and Stand Clear signs. Ten-twelve storey: if the thing came down unexpectedly you’d likely get a lump on the scone. Iron tables in the picnic circle were discoloured; the next job for the work-crew perhaps. Synthetic tennis court below tall light poles—doubtful anyone was foolish enough to chase the ball while the sun was blazing. (These outdoor courts were indeed used in Singapore. No fans, no aircon. Usually at night when the temp had dropped to high twenties, humidity still off the chart, enthusiasts played. Marathoners and young National Service men were known to drop dead here; thus far no tennis players.) Ghostliness. Hollow ghostliness. The cropped shrubbery, an outdoor cleanliness like indoors—nary a stray leaf anywhere, much less slip of paper or plastic wrapper from the common outside world. Eerie. If there was such a thing as spine-chill on the equator. Some art-house splatter movies came to mind: Scandinavian films of violent meltdown began with such perfectly sedate surrounds featuring boy/girl-next-door villains. The Indian crew could have easily created mayhem: a Kashmiri or radicalized Muslim gotten past the Immigration desk on a U.S. passport carrying a certified couple of million $$ in a briefcase for cover. With the right explosives brought in on the truck past the gate you could have demolished the entire ten storeys, filmed and posted online, before police and fire brigade reached the site. The long ropes that had brought the Indian painters down from the top of the building waved like ribbons in the breeze. Every so often the lads looked up as if one of their number had been left on the roof. The cage sat on the grass 2.5 x 0.65 - 70m. Some kind of winch was involved, lads on the ground taking turns with those above. If these young men were Kashmiris perhaps it was less daunting, like for the Appalachian Indians on the early NY skyscrapers. Finally Kristie arrived, a Mainlander when the text exchange suggested hipster Singaporean. (A boyfriend had helped with the English acquisition.) They had a two month gap to fill, reduced price $900, utilities and wifi thrown in. Two prof. women in two rooms, one a Master that had its own bathroom. The other bathroom would be shared with one woman, a German guy and an Indian who stayed in the Maids’ Room (Bomb Shelter likely, with the early sixties construction). Kris was studying Accounting at a private college, $3k per semester. Expensive, but rental in Sing was the largest expense. Kris had lived in this condo earlier; now she was at upscale Orchard. Eighteen months out from Northern China, an hour from the Yalu River and North Korea. Recent high-colour toenail polish. Perhaps she did; perhaps she didn't moonlight out at Orchard, famous for its offerings. A second young maid was encountered seeking a gate for exit, this one led by two dogs of the same pocket-size as the first (again no plastic bag visible). A granddad stumblingly leading two children around a narrow, winding path. Don’t step on the grass whatever you do! Had you unconsciously tip-toed toward the garden-seat yourself perchance?