From a quite unexpected quarter one morning.
— Good thinking; good doing.
Frizzy-haired chap offering slightest acknowledgements up to that point over the five years. Early or even mid-seventies, always dyed and in good trim.
The Malay might have been infused with some part Indian in his case.
Earlier the man had never sat at the lower end there, all the previous passes had been up at the Haig, almost always with quite uncertain acknowledgement and most often nothing explicit.
Chap had drawn some conclusions from his quiet observations over the term. More than a little surprising.
Only in the last couple of weeks had there been more deliberate nods and inaudible words. These here the very first distinct—something like an oracle finally giving unambiguous utterance.
Fellow had gone across under the awning on the other side of the passage to have his fag. (Two hundred and fifty dollar fines recently exacted for smokers at the tables.) One of the street chaps who slept rough and relied on charity was there on a chair he had taken over; joined by the sage. On the return passing behind the chair and bending to whisper in the ear.
Clearly respected pen and paper, when there had not been any indication whatever.
Left one wondering; still waters and all that.
And more treasure almost immediately afterward as a kind of follow-up illustration.
An old, irregular Malay tissue-seller had stopped at the adjacent diners. Yes, a sale. Lady would take a single pack, that would do. Keep those two. Makasih, makasih.
Furthermore, chap accompanying the lady wanted to know whether the woman had eaten. Hungry or thirsty?
Usually perfunctory enquiries of course, though not in this case. Pressing at hesitation. (The ancients in Montenegro needed to be asked three times before they would accept hospitality; that way you could be sure of true offering.)
Iced lemon teh then, no need let up on the gula. Sugar hit for all she's worth.
Politeness meant the woman should sit a while, short conversation sufficient.
Not so hot, good cloud cover. Quite enough for a thirst of course.
Had the woman truly eaten? Would she like a plate of something?
Sudah, the tissue-hawker re-affirmed. Seemed she had indeed taken some morsel previously.
Half the teh consumed; the remainder she would take with her. Away then. Thanks again and best wishes.
In delivering a couple of drinks unasked in the last few days Mr. Yusof the SMRT (“death” in Serbo-Croat!) bus-incident stand-by explained with Ramadan approaching a Muslim needed to reach out to one's brothers, to one's neighbours and strangers too.
The extremism was chickens coming home to roost after more than a century of devious manipulation and vicious devilry in one particular region of the world most especially. Colonialism and Neo.
— Good thinking; good doing.
Frizzy-haired chap offering slightest acknowledgements up to that point over the five years. Early or even mid-seventies, always dyed and in good trim.
The Malay might have been infused with some part Indian in his case.
Earlier the man had never sat at the lower end there, all the previous passes had been up at the Haig, almost always with quite uncertain acknowledgement and most often nothing explicit.
Chap had drawn some conclusions from his quiet observations over the term. More than a little surprising.
Only in the last couple of weeks had there been more deliberate nods and inaudible words. These here the very first distinct—something like an oracle finally giving unambiguous utterance.
Fellow had gone across under the awning on the other side of the passage to have his fag. (Two hundred and fifty dollar fines recently exacted for smokers at the tables.) One of the street chaps who slept rough and relied on charity was there on a chair he had taken over; joined by the sage. On the return passing behind the chair and bending to whisper in the ear.
Clearly respected pen and paper, when there had not been any indication whatever.
Left one wondering; still waters and all that.
And more treasure almost immediately afterward as a kind of follow-up illustration.
An old, irregular Malay tissue-seller had stopped at the adjacent diners. Yes, a sale. Lady would take a single pack, that would do. Keep those two. Makasih, makasih.
Furthermore, chap accompanying the lady wanted to know whether the woman had eaten. Hungry or thirsty?
Usually perfunctory enquiries of course, though not in this case. Pressing at hesitation. (The ancients in Montenegro needed to be asked three times before they would accept hospitality; that way you could be sure of true offering.)
Iced lemon teh then, no need let up on the gula. Sugar hit for all she's worth.
Politeness meant the woman should sit a while, short conversation sufficient.
Not so hot, good cloud cover. Quite enough for a thirst of course.
Had the woman truly eaten? Would she like a plate of something?
Sudah, the tissue-hawker re-affirmed. Seemed she had indeed taken some morsel previously.
Half the teh consumed; the remainder she would take with her. Away then. Thanks again and best wishes.
In delivering a couple of drinks unasked in the last few days Mr. Yusof the SMRT (“death” in Serbo-Croat!) bus-incident stand-by explained with Ramadan approaching a Muslim needed to reach out to one's brothers, to one's neighbours and strangers too.
The extremism was chickens coming home to roost after more than a century of devious manipulation and vicious devilry in one particular region of the world most especially. Colonialism and Neo.
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