Pretty guy pops up at rat tent

My slum friend Pong was making a noisy spectacle of herself.

Farang T and I dropped in to the rat tent for a quick beer after work.

Pong was seated at a rickety table with colleagues from her own workplace, an oil storage depot down the road.

She was the only woman in a group of five or six people, but made more noise than anyone else.

‘She likes being the centre of attention,’ I told farang T.

When we arrived, Pong promptly left her table and took a seat in front of me. She stretched out her hand, and asked me why I missed her birthday the day before.

‘I am sorry...I mixed up the days,’ I said, which was true.

Why the outstretched hand? Pong wanted a birthday present.

‘I didn’t buy you one, as I thought your birthday was next week,’ I said.

Pong and I have only recently met. She has no right to expect a birthday present, still less that I would shout her to a sushi meal at a restaurant - her other bright idea for celebrating her birthday, which she put to me the week before.

‘We have only known each other two weeks, and I have a partner. I can’t take you anywhere,’ I told her bluntly.

On the night we visited, Bangkok was gripped by unseasonably cold weather, so at least we had something to talk about.

Pong was sitting next to a pretty young man, who smiled at me, and offered comments about the weather.

'Is it this cold in your home country?' he asked.

He must have felt sorry for me, as I sat shivering, with my arms wrapped around my chest.

Pong introduced us, but I can’t remember the young man's name. I doubt he was gay, but he was great to watch anyway.

As I left, I rubbed his bare leg, and asked why he wasn't in bed. He was munching on a stick of corn, some of which attached itself to his mouth.

I wiped my own face, so he would get the message to clean his mouth. He laughed shyly, as if he knew I was showing more interest in him that a stranger really ought.

Back at home, I toyed with the idea of sending Pong a text message asking about her young friend.

I decided against. She could turn my text message into a gossipy conversation piece, which would give her friends at the table a good laugh.

I wouldn’t mind that, but she might also resent the fact I am showing more interest in the young man than I am in her.

One of her older friends, a grizzly guy in his 40s, knew immediately what I was about. ‘Do you have a boyfriend?’ he asked, moments after setting eyes on me.

I am not sure if Pong has figured it out yet. Or maybe, as she presents her male work friends for my inspection, she is just waiting for me to ask.