Of Cobwebs And Hotel Rooms

Sitting in front of my laptop in the hotel room, frantically switching windows between chatroom sessions, yahoo messenger and blog sites, my life here in Houston seems to have shrunk to such a dreary existence that I sometimes feel utterly unmotivated to even breath. In a city where you could virtually hold a chinese 9-course dinner right in the middle of the road in downtown after office hours, and where folks whose sole idea of entertainment is eating out and growing fat, suddenly the whole notion of walking down Bukit Bintang, never mind its limited charms, becomes wildly exhilarating. Sure, you may have an entire gay neighborhood to yourself, but that also mean that hooking up is never more than a few doors away, leaving saunas pathetically deserted and discos few and far between. The good men are long gone I believe, grabbed by possessive, marriage-minded partners who sole purpose in life is to produce home-cooked meals to feed their husbands, while the weird and dysfunctional ones remain available to haunt whichever poor souls unlucky enough to cross their paths.

Now do allow me the luxury of busying myself with brushing off cobwebs that are starting to collect around my feet. And you’ll hear more about the weird men soon.