Thaniya Road, the main street of Pat Pong, One of Bangkok's sex neighborhoods, He was a hotbed of people. The girls, converted into simple merchandise, They were ordered, sitting in their chairs or contouring themselves with reluctance, With their nurses and their makeup eyes, While the Madames claimed customer service. A band played music in the middle of the street. The night began to encourage, It was Saturday.
I walked through those streets, Between the smell of oil of the frying of street stalls, The shouts of the girls who claimed the attention of the clients and the positions that sell transparent nylon lingerie and vibrators. And suddenly I reached that alley. I was just behind all that fuss of adjacent streets. At the bottom, With its red tones, There was another American bar that was empty. A border between both worlds. Bangkok.
