Mr Friendly at the 7-11 (2, final)

Mr Friendly at the 7-11 and I have now broken the ice. We now chat freely about anything - or as freely as we can, with customers entering the 7-11, and me standing in front of the busy counter.

Yesterday when I paid a visit, Mr Friendly, whose name is 'T', reached for the cigarettes. I stopped him, as I had come in for something else.

'Today I would like a card to top up my phone,' I said.

No sooner had I told him what I wanted than his questions began.

'Do you live in that condo just around the corner?' he asked.

T was standing behind the counter next to a young woman, who listened to our conversation.

The staff at this 7-11 are a chatty bunch. Often when I walk in, T is having animated conversations with them.

'I do. Where do you live?' I asked. I thought one personal question deserved another.

'I live in the soi [small street] just around the corner. I left school in the sixth form and am working here for a year to save money. I want to study local government at a university in Bangkok next year,' he said.

'Why don't you ask your parents to support you?' I asked.

'I have three brothers and sisters, all younger. I can't ask them to support me when the others are still studying,' he said.

T, who has pale skin, bright red lips, and a wide smile, is from Chiang Mai. 'I am a northern boy,' he said proudly.

T is attentive to customers, anticipating their wants and needs. He is good at talking to the children who enter the shop. In fact, he is so bubbly that I suspect he is good at chatting to everyone.

'What is your name?' I asked.

He crossed one finger over another to make a 'T' sign.

'T'.

I told him my name in return.

'Why did you come to Bangkok, and how did you end up working here?' I asked him.

'I came with a group of friends. I didn't think I would stay. They have all gone back now. But I want to carry on studying.

'In Bangkok, apart from the staff at the 7-11, I have no friends, no relatives, nobody,' he said.

For a Thai, being alone in a strange city is a big deal. Mr T feels lonely, and talks to people to get over it.

'Do you go out much?' I asked.

'I hardly go out. Most of the time I sit outside the 7-11, talking to the motorcycle-taxi guys, or I play games at the internet shop across the road.

'Apart from that, I like to sleep, as I get tired legs standing in the shop all day,' he said.

I said a hurried goodbye, and left the shop.

You can have too much of a good thing. I don't want T thinking I am being nosy, or to get another attack of the jitters which presumably kept him from chatting to me long before now.

I am twice T's age, and work the wrong hours. When I am free during the day, he is working, and vice-versa. Still, I am sure we will talk again. One day I will ask him to talk to me in the northern dialect.

I knew a young hairdresser once who came from the North. He was gay, and like T, used to miss home. When he called his sister, I liked to listen to him talking in northern dialect, which has an even prettier sing-song lilt than central Thai.

I am not sure if northern boy T stays with anyone, or lives alone. For his sake, I hope he has friends at his place. They could help keep his loneliness at bay, and the misery of a solitary existence far from his home out of his mind.