We were both breast stroking through the fog, towards that flashing red neon.

‘I’d prefer to be stroking breasts than this,’ said  Bernhard, who bumped into an oak tree. ‘Fuck, think there’s a road ahead.’

There was, and across it , was Henri’s Gallery, that much I knew.

And they sell booze, I said, knowing that would get the tenacious Kiwi miner in the right frame of mind to swim the last ten yards to our destination. And whores too, many of them come eat here either before or after work.

It was a toss up. Being a Sunday, the place was closed.

‘So why the fuck did they leave on their neon lights?’

So that we wouldn’t fall into the harbour, numbnuts. If it wasn’t for those neon lights, besides being pretty, we’d be halfway to Hong Kong by now.

‘Have you looked at where we are on Google Maps?’

Alright, a closed harbour.

‘Sai Van Lake, it’s a fucking lake, the best we could do is make it to MGM Macau.’

I had just the spiel to get us a few nights free accomodation, things were looking  very optimistic on this foggy night.

It was a fifteenth century famous Taoist temple that the coin decided. I thought it would be cool to visit on a night you couldn’t see as far as your dick.

‘Charming,’ said Bernhard who  hailed a taxi. If it wasn’t for the fog horn, we may never had known it was trawling the roads for dimwits like ourselves.


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