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The plane landed on Bali.

It was really just that simple.

What was even more simple, were the palm trees swaying in the gentle breeze leading out of the airport  and the aroma of clove cigarettes and the sickly sweet humidity, that said welcome to Bali.

It’s always the warm breath from the Devil’s cauldron that made you feel most welcome.

There was always that air of expectancy. Bali was here to serve. ‘Now what would you like now, Sir?’

A taxi to East Java, said Bernhard. He was keen to see how his investments were going.

I was keen to see how Adul and Fitri were doing, whether they had graduated in the arcane arts of the Goddess of the Western Oceans.

‘Don’t fucking lie,’ said Bernhard, who still had that dopey smile on his face, I have no idea how he gelled with that big titted Thai ladyboy, but he was still shrouded in an aura of bliss, ‘ you just wan’t to fondle Javina’s tit’s with your greedy eyes.’

With my greedy eyes, that was highly original. And my roaming hands, more to the point.

My book, my rules, I said, a little bit forcefully and told the taxi driver to take us to Sanur.

‘I want to show my turf.’

Bernhard just smiled.

He needed some down time.

‘And besides bitch,  I’m still looking for another location to buy a bar.’

Bali embraced us. That’s what it does. The possibilities are limitless.

We weren’t going to glitzy Kuta riddled with Aussie bogans and Euro trash. We were going to the…

‘The dirty part of town,’ said Bernhard, ‘my favorite kind of places.’

And I didn’t even thump him in the head for rudely interrupting the man with microphone. I was feeling expansive. I always do when I’m paying a visit to the Chicken Farm.

‘Fuck it.’

Fuck it. 

Even the taxi driver, whose name was Sana, was saying fuck it.

You only live once and all that jazz, I said and handed out some Tramadols.

Let’s ease into the night.

‘Me Mad Hindu,’ said  the driver.

Thought I had seen the fucker before.

This was a reunion and having the Balinese pimp aboard would just make the night more interesting.

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