Oliver Benjamin
“Are you planning on taking your hooker on a hike? This isn’t
Africa.”
“It’s all Africa,” I replied, “Hearts of Darkness everywhere you
look.”
“I like your attitude,” he replied, “We seem to have a lot in
common.”
“Thanks.”
“Except that I hate your boots.”
“Say whatever you like about me,” I cautioned him, “but never
insult the boots.”
When we arrived there, I was a little disappointed. The great sin
center was little more than a small street with a couple dozen clubs
spouting titles like “Pussy Galore” and “Love Potion #69.”
“Speaking of obvious and overexposed,” I said.
Oscar yanked my arm and said pseudo-sagely, “One must look
always under the surfaces of things.”
We entered a club called “Thai Me Up,” and sat down. At first it
just seemed like a normal strip joint, and we ordered some of the
local Thai beer. Suddenly, there were two girls next to us. Mine was
tiny and stunningly attractive. She looked about sixteen.
“Heh-ro, howah yoo?” she asked in a thick accent.
“I’m fine. Do you speak English?” I asked in a rigid staccato.
“Of cour I sapeek Englit. Do you sapeek Englit? Whad you
name? Wayah you come fom? My name Mik. I thin you vely hansom.
You thin ahm pitty? Wanna go upstaya?”
“How old are you?” I smiled. She looked confused.
“One thousa baht. Special pri faw yoo.”
I tried to speak as clearly as I could, “No, how-old-are-you?”
“Tawety-fie.”
“You don’t look tawety-fie.”
She looked confused and knit her brow. “Tawety-too?”
“Sorry, but no thanks,” I said, and turned around to see how
Oscar was getting along. He was already furiously kissing and
groping his new female acquaintance. Upon closer inspection I
realized that his “woman” made the other girl look like a
grandmother. I tapped him on the shoulder and he stopped,
breathing heavily.
“You scumbag,” I sputtered.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, a little offended.
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