I was really doing the rounds today and exploring a new neighborhood.

It was the Karaoke Precinct.

They were all closed.

A Malay guy selling coconut juice was just what I wanted.

He was banished to the road hugging the Sarawak.

I was glad to imbibe in fresh coconut juice.

Time waits for no one, oh there’s the other bridge spanning the Sarawak. Too far to walk to in this heat. The naff cap I bought is barely protecting me from the midday heat.

Thomas the Dyak says the local government is advising no one to walk outside during the day.

I’m lousy at following government warnings.

A crew is loading their boat.

They’ll be out on the South China Sea later today.

I’m moving, where I’m not sure.

Surely there’s another Chinese food court to explore.

I’m always on the lookout for hot Indonesian staff they employ.

It’s one of my few joys in life.

This one was a Muslim.

She was wearing tight colorful leotards that hugged her curves, from her tight ass to her camel toe, I was getting my eyeful.

Her name was Dasey.

She was Muslim and wearing a rugby shirt with England written on it.

I was more concerned with her attire south of the shirt.

‘Australia better,’ I said and shook her hand.

Contact at last.

Every time she bent over a table to wipe it down, my eyes were following those terrific curves.

The coffee was good too.


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