Kew wants a new motorcycle. That explains his behaviour these past few weeks, constantly calling and asking how I am, telling me how he misses me, how I'm the most wonderful farang he knows. The fact I am the only farang he knows is something vanity allows me to overlook.
Kew is my next-door neighbour in Chanthaburi, where fortune and hard work have provided me with a cottage to which I retreat to write and gather my thoughts.
(God knows I can't gather anything else, most notably a crop of any description; all efforts to plant Queensland pumpkins, mango trees and even elicit plants have resulted in embarrassing failure. Despite good intentions my efforts at cultivation have been green, thanks to a thumb that is not.)
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