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The Buddhist eyed me up from across the road. I sent him out my vibes in no uncertain terms then waved him away.  The Buddhist eyed me up from across the road again today and I gently waved him away. “Donation,” he said, tacking on a “ Good luck.”

I gently waved him away but he wouldn’t leave. Another wave in his face, he got the message.  If you see this  guy in grey robes walking down the street, avoid him like the plague. He’s going to make you feel guilty until you buy his cheap  Made In China trinket blessed no doubt by Lord Fucking Buddha. He has no scruples what so ever.

Seeing the day  after a month in the dark was quite a shock. The Chinese nattered to themselves around the outdoor cafes, the kissing sound of ‘I want to get the Indonesian waitress’s attention’, and a few long tea tarek later, I hit the privacy of my room.

I’m not keen to meet the rude Indian again. When you want to say fuck off, instead you let them berate you, is the story of my life. It might explain why I’m still around.

Next time I meet Richard the Drunk, I could go for the ignore mode, and wave him off like I did with the Buddhist. Let him know his place.

This is Malaysia after all, and most people hate the Indians because of idiots like him. He’s the only bad egg I’ve met in Johor, so I shouldn’t really complain.  Maybe I should offer him some  Christmas cheer and buy him a beer. Nah, on second thoughts, I might be charitable and tell him to fuck off and then call the police, saying he’s harassing me. The Malay police will believe me.

 

 

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