Another oldie dumbfounded at how far he had fetched, reporting to all and sundry at every opportunity. I seventy-four!... Not the usual guessing game this time: straight out challenge. One had become practiced at the requisite surprise and retort. In this case chap did look alright for that big number, might be able to crawl on a bit further yet. Gaps, dye-faded long hair, squinting. No leg—summarily rapping his thigh. Everything suggested the man would be perfectly accepting and indeed welcome a closer camaraderie... Ya, old-fashioned peg-leg alright, the wood gave a distinct, hollow ring. Bike of course. From Medan, Sumatra, but forty years in a Chinese kitchen in the States left good English. New to this neighbourhood and surprised to encounter a bule with some bahasa. More surprise followed when he heard of a liaison with a Minangkabau (just south of his own region). What?!... And immediately, How much?... Then, No believe, when told it was sayang, love; not bought. Safe to assume over the years the old rascal had spent plenty. What could that Lima Satu sign mean? At the upper end of Gang 2 off Sosrowijayan, the old board hung out with all the others into the alley-way. Five One? What, fifty-one a room? he was thinking. None of the losmen went that low. A Russian film-maker of the early Stalin period had startled at Cinematheque 8 - 9 years ago with improvised doco-drama using non-actors pulled from the street, who gave remarkably compelling performances. Strangers seemingly thrown together that same instant, immediately striking up an effortless intimacy that completely side-lined the camera, producing something like high import dreaming. A century later close equivalents in Yogyakarta daily, in this case the frame fully entered and close participation.
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