Valentine's Day.

You had sex and perhaps love again  but Duan was distracted. You both were. Especially when her expensive new cell phone started beeping. You had noticed it earlier. A gift from a friend she said. She held it to her ear. Said nothing.

Next morning early she began packing a bag. ‘Go stay sister,’ she said.

One day, two days pass. Three. The toilet really stinks. The walls seem to be made of cardboard. On the fourth day you meet her friend/sister/cousin Nok on the stairs. She seems surprised to see you in the building. She smiles. Don’t they all?

‘Duan very lucky na.’ Says Nok. ‘Go Samui.’

What? Stunned you grope your way out onto the street where nothing makes sense and people have been transformed into ugly blobs of uncaring protoplasm. Duan go Samui?? How? Why? Who with?

You stand on the pavement with no direction. Left and right present themselves as unattractive options. Straight ahead, under that bus, holds a certain charm.

Deciding you need more information, or more punishment, you turn and go back into the building. You locate Nok’s room and knock on the door. Knock Nok get it? OK, you‘re not in the mood for puns today.

Nok opens the door. Her eyes look glazed. There are other girls there. Braiding hair. Clipping nails. Pounding crabs.

‘Sorry to bother you Nok. I was wondering if you know how long Duan’s gone for. Or who she went with?’ Keep your voice steady. You are only mildly interested.

Nok stares blankly. Another voice inside the room says ‘Go Samui with fen.’ Fen? What fucking ‘fen’ would that be then?

‘Oh. I see. Thanks very much.’

‘I solly.’ Says Nok. Bless her little heart.

Now what? No way are you going to sit in that crummy room, where the walls close in like unwanted memories, for weeks, waiting for her to come back. Which means back to the street. You walk. Anywhere will do. Bangkok looks like a map of hell. Into a shopping complex. Shopping Thais everywhere. Up an escalator you go. Giant Happy Valentine Hearts dangle grotesquely overhead. Gadgets, key-chains, ballpoints, DVDs, cell-phones cascade from every bright sharp angle. Who buys all this stuff? Why? Confusion and despair reflected in every surface. No cohesion. Pieces. Like an old vaguely remembered jigsaw puzzle. But this is no English summer garden. No thatched cottage, willows by the pond. You catch a glimpse of a haggard, manic looking farang in a shop window. Poor devil, you think. That bloke needs to get a grip. You offer to buy him a drink but he looks at you as if you’re mad and dissolves into the crowd of busy shoppers.

Somehow you arrive at a Sky Train station. Shiny rails. Nice clean decapitation. That would entertain the buggers. Don’t do it. Get off at Ploenchit. Walk a bit. Nana Plaza? No, not yet. Golden Bar better. Sit down. Stop the movement. Stay calm. Think this through. Drink a beer slowly. Look around. Stop examining yourself for character flaws. Think about bluebell woods instead, cricket on the village green. Look on the bright side. Be positive. Plenty more fish in the sea. Have another beer. See if you can come up with a happy ending.