Huggy Bear is a man of his word. When he says he’s going to take you to a whore house, he takes you to a whorehouse.

I used the ATM code  again. Didn’t even get any photos. We are banned from Whore Lane. They are wise to the tricks of that foreigner who says he needs to go to the ATM. But Huggy Bear is loving the cloak and dagger of it all. And so am I.

He read me the Muslim act last night. I’m now apparently a Muslim. I need all the help I can get. Maybe the insurgents will stop tracking my movements. Maybe.

I’ve been spending too much time on Sweet Smelling Water. I even wrote Huggy Bear into the book,he’s really that good.

Take me to the Chicken Farm, I said. I need a new cover for the book. I changed his oil on his motorbike that looked like some thick primordial sludge. It didn’t cost me much. It’s normal. I would be disappointed if Huggy Bear didn’t take the opportunity to wring some more money out of me.

An hour later with too much dust in my eyes and a cramped ass, I say fuck it to  the Chicken Farm.

Instead, he took me down to the river and showed me the shag rooms. They were just rooms with curtains as doors. But we had no sweethearts so I said let’s leg it out of here.

Back in Medan, I needed sleep. The sun blessed my white skin with a red tan line.

Night time, we hit the brothels. We were nearly raced out of the area. Miss Big Tits did look tasty. She had tiny  sweet droplets  running down her luscious Medan boobs. She really wanted to give me a ‘susu’ massage. And I really wanted to part with my cash. She could well have been one of my girls in Sweet Smelling Water.  I still might recruit her.

But first  being taken out the back  by the mamasan with big tits and given a card with the prices on, didn’t seem right. And when her husband  came out the back  with a card, with different prices on, it didn’t  feel right either. And when the big titted whore came out the back and didn’t let me sample the product, that didn’t feel right either.

‘A man should never get in the way of a whore,’ said Huggy Bear.

Instead, I suggested we hit an Alpha Mart and get a coffee. For the next hour he told me about how Mohammed could fly. Thanks, that’s going in my book.

Huggy Bear is more than a dodgy motorbike boy. He’s a philosopher too. I feel honored to have two in one. He’s not quite the Mad Hindu, but he really has potential.

We both laughed about the vacant rooms for romantic moments by the river. It was an eerie place. I imagined it was a quiet place to dispose of a body after making love. Yes, it was that eerie.

And no whores to service us. Sumatra might not be Java, but I give credit where it’s due.

The last destination is a Christian cemetery. It’s a light rain and I focus on the tombs.

Then back into the night. Huggy Bear is impressed. ‘You like to see where you are going.’

Who doesn’t, I said. 

‘Even  shallow grave will do for me,’ said Huggy Bear, who  is a realist. He has shown me another side of Medan that is rarely promoted by the local tourist office.

‘But much coverted.’

I bet.

‘Anti-traveling,’ I said. Keep up the good work and find me more slime and mud.

He said he was committed to my cause. This guy has real potential and I’m committed to keeping him employed.


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