Hope at the noodle cart (part 1)

A young man who works at a popular noodle cart, just five minutes from my home, gives me long, brooding looks whenever I walk past.

When I go that way to the bus stop, the noodle guy follows me with his eyes. If I cross the bridge and turn back, often he is still looking.

What does he want?

He looks like a young man from the provinces, tanned and strong.

His skin is as fine as that of a doll. His face seems to change almost day to day, in the peculiar way that Thai faces can do.

One night, I came home from my drinking spot, and decided to wait for him to finish work.

'Would you like to talk?' I asked, after he had packed up his noodle cart.

'Yes!' he said excitedly.

The noodle guy, whose name is M, works there with a young couple and their children. They were fascinated to see M talking to a farang.

M held one child by the shoulders affectionately … he is obviously good with little ones. He is also not afraid of hard work: they start int he late afternoon, and do not pack up until midnight.

I asked him a few simple questions. Something about my manner must have appeared fem, for he suddenly changed his mind.

'I have to pack up the cart,' he said. A few moments later, he disappeared. I turned around, and he had gone.

I spoke to the older couple who own the cart. They wanted to know if I knew M, and why I wanted to talk to him.

By the next day, he had lost interest. 'I don't have time to talk,' he said brusquely. I offered him my phone number. 'I don't have a phone,' he said, turning away.

Now see part 2