Trouble is, this isn’t my usual blues. This is a whole other kind of blues, that stems from the briefest of conversations. And it was the age old, “ask him at 7am” kind of question, and any old grunt in return is the absolute authority she’ll need to handcuff me with at a later date.
“Shall we go and travel Asia?”.
48 hours later, the flights are booked.
But the symptoms of this hangover were different. They didn’t come from a traditional hangover. I wish they did, because at least I’d be paying the price for a half decent night propping up a bar. But no, this was a result of heat, of little water, of zero sleep, of being somewhere my Casper The Ghost body was not designed to reside.
I had to get out of Bangkok. The city of never-ending wrong.
A place where the cockroaches are 6 inches long and the rats are a the size of cats. A place where the cats are the size of wolves and the dogs are for dinner. An optional side of sticky rice or noodles are par for the main course.
I gotta get out of this place and head north, where it’s bound to be a welcome kind of cooler, and I’m a Northern English man; which is better in ways that if you had to ask, you could never understand.