The Old Mutton Dressed as Lamb  brigade cruise the tables. Money is  handed over by the Chinese in exchange for their conversation skills.

The Singapore circus has yet to arrive. But the border town is  humming. These Chinese Malay cool cats are great to hang around with. Even the older guys get a bit of female action. The girls could be from China or Vietnam, but no one seems to care.

It was that old geezer again. I remembered him. He was the one who asked all those dumb questions. He pulled  me up  on the street. “Where are you from. How long have you been staying here. Where is your hotel.” Too  many questions to put question marks here.

I told him the usual bull. He still didn’t recognise me. I excused myself. “Come back here. Please come back here. I must talk to you,”  he shouted. He only wanted to ask me more questions. I had a lovely walk and gave the knees a good workout. The last thing I wanted to do was talk to a guy with advanced stages of Parkinson.

He started following me. He hobbled towards me. Fuck, he’s a bit too old to be police or intelligence.  Now I was just waiting for him to start sprinting after me as I turned my head and watched  him implore for me to come back.  He seemed determined. He was just an old Malay who wanted to practise his English.

I didn’t want to be rude so that’s why I waved him off. Maybe it was the Malaysian track suit pants that caught his attention. I’m really glad I didn’t put on my “I Love Johor’ T-shirt. Who knows what his response would’ve been then.

The old geezer could have been the Sultan of Johor for all I fucking knew. Weirder things have happened…


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