Nearing quart eight at Tasvee after
an oily supper of vegetables on Lor. 24 corner. Great buzz of lads
congregating down by the lane.
Shortly
before departure brother Francis was ranting something at Doreen in English
about the choice of wifi and phone bundle she had chosen. Fellow was in for an
unexpected blast should there be a repetition.
Uncle
Francis, I am not paying good money here to listen to your raving. You sound to
me like a bully, poor sister of yours needing to put up with it. I don’t want
to hear it again. Why don’t you pick on someone your own size? &etc.
Bloody
cheek. Member of some strange Jap sect with HQ of some kind here in Geylang
that needed to be investigated. Silly old duffer. Sergeant Peppers,
Dylan and a few other vinyls discovered in the spare room currently being
cleaned for the reception of the younger brother Calvin was difficult to fit
with contemporary Francis. They were his records alright, Calvin was ten years
younger.
Good gathering, the usual settled, even temper. Nan and dahl to
soak up the earlier oil was the way to go.
Chap at register a dead-set spitting
image of the fellow here 3 - 4 years ago; the surprise was he had gotten
younger. A brother or clansman of the other; alternatively hair dye and facial
sculpting from Ramadan perhaps. (The latter transformation was a real matter.)
A good many Chin heavy and coloured heads stumbling and blundering.
They’d turned themselves into a tandoori joint at Tasvee,
or at least accent was on the new item introduced to the menu. Almost the glory
of 4 - 5 years ago the workingmen trooping past in the gutter and sitting.
Couple of young lads departing, exiting by the hot plate, with one laying a
light hand on the wrist of the other. How a Westerner observing would flounder.
Earlier there had been a glimpse of a suspected shared ciggie; a second episode
subsequently confirmed. After a few puffs the lad was ready to hand back, —
But, no, you hang onto it.
In the interim fifties were counted out for this lad. The threesome had awaited
Fourth’s arrival, two slender teen-like figures and one more robust. Newcomer,
Four, conformed to the majority.
There was a brief moment where a possible question may have arisen of
short-change. Hopefully it was not the case, nothing untoward transpired. One
should never allow it lads, All for one and all that. Off they went together
for their dorm.
The Deaf was not at his perch tonight; couple of the older Chin shady
characters in their youthful street wear blown through briefly.
The dollars earlier might have been hangbao from the
contractor, Bangla or Indian perhaps.
The crowd clearing quickly, back to the pile-drivers in the morning, at least
for the laboring class. (Management and others might be able to string a few
days together.)
A downturn by common consent on the
street if not in the newspapers, where upticks reign in the media white-out
here. One item from a foreign source did get through concerning the number of
oil tankers sitting at sea by ports like Rotterdam and Singapore.
NB. Syed the Hadrami user, jail-bird, victim of sexual abuse at the orphanage
when he lost his parents, lover of Ramadan when the men at the mosques sat in
foursome around the common plate for the breaking of fasts, Syed commonly
referred to the song of the title.
First Muslim MP in the Federal Parliament looking a chance down in
Australia—an academic specializing in de-radicalization no less—likeliest
another of the co-opted speaking through her hat. There has not been enough
damage inflicted in the “crusader” countries, none in the mainstream anywhere
acknowledging the blowback from a century of dastardy and subjugation. Chilcot
Report just released forced to measured tones.
NB2. The above penned on the evening of Wednesday 6 July.
Following morning a Tasmanian independent MP recently re-elected used stronger
language describing the blood on the hands of the Iraq war-mongers. ABC online.
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