Wherever we go, it's the go-go bars, it's the go-go bars with red lights that fall on whore eyes and teeth and bare waxed arms dangerously, and drunk lovers (or people pretending to be) and a few awkward families stepping their way out of that, that jungle of penis jokes on t-shirts (3 for 45 baht) so look straight ahead (but they all read some and think, haha, must tell the friends) and walk quick, leave the beer gripping pink Europeans and their short skirted girls behind, stepping stepping over a puddle here a stranger's sneaker there, this awful mixed up clamour of tubelights hung on trees and shops under them selling fake things (fake promises that they'll work, too) and the cars glide silently by, below the sky train that flares orange suddenly in the night popped by skyscraper lights, and the wicked signs that say massage and mean sex, like the hotels penning in lovers (or people pretending to be).