Our glasses were somehow full again. I emptied mine too fast, laughing. He smiled back, a handsome guy, practically a stranger. Younger than me, but so what? Bangkok doesn’t judge your appetites. It feeds them.
“What do you think?” He leaned in close, closer.
“I love it.”
Love’s the wrong word, of course. This was lust, love’s more marketable counterpart, the city’s stock-in-trade. No doubt I’d wake up the next morning filled with greasy, wash-out regret. But right then morning seemed far away.
“Still like it?” he asked as we paused for breath.
“You know I do.”
“Good.” He didn’t bother to whisper. “Because this is the best fried chicken in Bangkok.”
I hadn’t come to Bangkok to get involved with a chicken. (Who does? Wait, don’t answer that.) The last thing I expected in this city of pleasure was a good time. I’d signed up for a CELTA course, the ESL teacher’s equivalent of boot camp. CELTA certifications are respected all across the world. That’s because they’re hard to get. Candidates spend four weeks being ground to slush under papers and lesson plans. They don’t sleep much.
So I was not Bangkok’s target demographic (single, thirsty, primed to stay out all night). The city wasn’t doing much for me either. Sure, it had some character, with its gap-toothed skyline and office girls riding sidesaddle on motorbikes. But essentially it was just a big city, like big cities anywhere. It could’ve been Chicago in a heat wave, or Seoul without the street cleaners. My feelings toward Bangkok could be summed up with one word: meh.
That was before I’d fully explored what was on offer.
“Let’s order another bird.”
“Oh baby, talk dirty to me.”
Read the rest of Erin’s story including this gem by clicking on the link below…