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Mohammed takes care of parking outside of KFC, on the side street.

He likes my black T-Shirt and he’s asked every day, for the past two weeks, that I should I give it to him before I return to Australia.

Last night he greeted me with a handshake, five minutes later I eventually secured my hand from his grip.

He’s a real character. He’s usually chatting up the old bags that come out for a trick and treat after sunset.

They are old hags and adorable.

I bought him a packet of cigarettes one day.

He owns a prime turf and I won’t be shouting him a coffee anytime soon.

At first, I thought he was some fucking spy.

He’s way too dumb for that.

I’m playing just as dumb.

I think we might be a good team.

I’ll be paying more attention to the hookers who sit on the seat of their parked motorbikes.

Pontianak has some hot young chicks doing the rounds on motorbikes.

They’ll sit on their parked Honda Dreams like stool pigeons, waiting for an offer.

West Kalimantan could well be the place they call Paradise Lost. It has all the innocence of a whore attending a Bat mitzvah.

I’m really impressed.

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