I get home in one piece. The Internet is down. I’ll read a book, what a lovely evening this is going to be, I say to myself. But who am I kidding. I want an oil massage. It’s been in my mind all day: I would like to see a girl in my room. I’ve never done this before. I live upcountry where options are limited. There are exactly two massage parlours in this city. I know them a bit, but home delivery is new to me. No English spoken in these parts. To the best of my ability, I explain my address to the lady on the phone. I live in a newly built serviced apartment block that calls itself “hotel”. It’s a confusing concept and nowhere near the bright lights, so as I am giving directions I almost know the girl will never find my place. It’s happened before with a pizza and a taxi, and it will happen again tonight, I think. I have a quick shower and clean up the room. I open the door to take the rubbish out, and there she is. I came by motorbike, she says. It’s taken her ten minutes. It takes me fifteen to get downtown. She rode like the wind, no helmet, no shoes… Thai style. Anyway, there she is: petite and smiley, young face, tiny shoulders, and also pregnant.