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I’m always winding up.

You have nowhere to run and nowhere to hide, leave.

That’s long behind me too.

As much as I try, I just can’t piss off the people of Borneo.

Even the copper wasn’t offended when I said I didn’t have my passport on me.

‘No problem Mister.’

He didn’t want to see it. He only wanted a selfie with me and chat about music. He was muttering about how he’s into air guitaring.

I’m going to charge the locals 5000 Rupiah, or fifty cents my currency, every selfie they have with me.

I’d be a rich guy.

A Chinese family have requested a selfie with me, says Ekka. I’ll oblige, how can I not? It’s not a normal request, and that’s why I find it so endearing. But just don’t post the picture on Twitter, I say, ‘I have a hostile enemy tracking me down for the Liberation Army of Pattani.’

And it would be totally illegal charging them for a picture, I tell the copper, who looks like Poncho from the CHiPs 70’s sitcom.

He’s wearing a jacket, covering his badges and police uniform. It quickly comes off as Ekka, the owner of Mc Cafe, takes a shot of me and the copper with my Samsung smart camera. Man, can’t you do better that, I ask Ekka.I’m looking fat and bloated.

It’s one of those days.

I can’t figure it out, I’ve not been raced out of town yet.

‘It’s not going to happen,’ says Ekka, who is an Indonesian Chinese.

What, it’s not going to happen?

Bummer.

I’m just not used to such kindness and lay backness.

Every time I open my mouth, I’m offending.

Could it be that they are lining me up to be the next white Rājā of West Kalimantan?

I’m related to Sir James Brooke, I tell the copper.

Ekka translate.

‘I thought so,’ said the copper.

Man, if I told them I was Neil Armstrong, they’d also believe it. Saying I”m Thomas Edison is a favorite too.

Borneo, a very large island, larger than most of South East Asia, from Singapore to Vietnam, marches to its own beat.

I haven’t put my finger on it. But the tribal beats are reaching to my inner core and opening my eyes to other possibilities.

‘A light bulb idea?’ asks Ekka.

Yep.

And why do you employ hot young girls at your coffee shop?

‘Makes the customer feel good.’

That girl at Cafe 21 made me feel very good.

‘I know,’ says Ekka,’ she is Dyak.’

She had the biggest set of knockers and a knockout figure.

The deaf-mutes were rooting for me.

The other group of deaf-mutes told me to avoid this group sitting next to me. The one that told me that in sign language was pretty tasty too.

Now, who do I believe?

I mentioned the Poncho sighting with my ex-FBI buddy and paranormal investigator, who seemed just as interested in the big knockers of the Dyak warrior at Cafe 21.

” Love it…instead of Poncho, Bonnie (Randi Oakes) from CHiPs. She takes your phone, does something to it, gives it back to you, and says she will let you off with a warning. By the way, there’s another number  in your contacts list. She gives you a seductive smile and walks away.”

I’m still coffee deficient, but it’s making perfect sense.  Now who the fuck is that other number?

Do I dial the number?

‘Hello,’ says a sultry voice.

It’s Ms Dyak and she’s invited me back to Cafe 21.  I’ll take a wad of cash and see if I can court her with some big red notes.

What’s the worse she can do, blow me off? I still have my deaf-mute friends to hang out with and the hot one who told me not to speak to the bad boys. She might even engage in some serious sign language with me.

I’ve no idea what they are putting in the coffee served at Zisi Emporium, but I’ll order a double of whatever it is next time I’m there.

‘THE RETURN TO CAFE 21….’ says the owner of Zisi Emporium, Mr. Christopher Zisi, who is considering writing his own review of this movie if it ever gets made,  ‘ is permeated with a whiff of  sex and an abundance of coffee aromas  set in a bistro of seduction.’

That’s how I’d sum up the cafe. As Ekka says, the hot chicks draw in the perverts.

In the name of research and scouting locations, I’ll hit the joint later today.

Wait, tweets Chris. He says he’s being inspired by Topeka, Kansas.

I’m waiting.

‘Sex, seduction and a vanilla latte that will wet your whistle.’

That’s always the promise when punters like us enter these kinds of establishments.

”But it’s the Karaoke joint you are really after,’ says Ekka. ‘The cafe girls are real flirts, but the most you’ll get out of them is  a selfie.’

Not deflated, a shot of reality in my expresso was a sobering thought.

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