Fictional narratives attempting to give humorous yet semi-respectful insights into the collision of Thai and Western cultures.
A soi is a small street or alleyway.
.
The soi doesn’t sleep,
It rest, briefly between shifts.
The last of the working girls return to their rented rooms, rooms with a lightbulb and a mattress, the night not as lucrative as hoped.
The drunks make their way to brunch, hoping to continue the night or at least delay the reckoning with the excess which they just finished.
The heat lingers on, languorous and slow,
In the slow walk before it jogs, gallops and finally runs in the afternoon.
The fingers of dawn
Show the tips of her painted nails,
Her bright orange arms and shoulders
Hidden, ready to muscle onto the streets.
The laborers start their shifts,
Moving burlap bags from truck to store.
Sweat moves down their brows, dig channels in the grime on their cheeks and falls on the pavement.
And the soi holds the sweat for a moment
Before it dries in the sun.
