October 4, 2006 — Tuk Tuk Reagan

“Tuck Tuck” he says with a squinted smile. He points to his motorcycle taxi. “sexy time” His stubby copper colored fingers dig through his pocket to present a folded brochure. I sip my beer and nervously adjust my pack. “no thank you” The English gets stuck in my teeth, but I smile in return. “Tuck Tuck …Best Message. . sexy time” he points to the exposed images of female flesh over the hot pink background of the brochure.

His bike is parked KHAOSAN ROAD, a hot soup of foreign travelers squeezing through curbside bars, and the neon of massage parlors and closet sized 711 stores.

“no thank you” I repeat, and search for my bed.

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