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"I'll walk for a while and follow what looks good. Thank you." He began walking. He was almost at the juncture when he heard the beep of another tuk-tuk. "Are you Nawin?" "Yes." "Somebody left this at the train station. The officers have been asking people they happened to see if its for them. You slipped by so one of them said to bring it to you. Are you Nawin Biadklang?" "Yes."
As material as the tuk-tuk and its passengers were, in his mind that which sped away from him wavered between the palpable and impalpable like an incongruous quark. The vehicle sparkled iridescently, stopped, and started as if blinking though not of the irregularity of the visible but of the inconsistency of the real and the material.
He wanted to loiter in time and stare at it without blinking in the hope that constancy would keep it there unchanged. It was the same type of thought that had prompted him to stop painting altogether a few years ago, and now he could hardly remember the feel of a paint brush in his hand. He got into a tuk-tuk and asked the driver to take him to the Buddhist Sculpture Garden.
He was startled by a driver beeping his horn and gesturing for him to also come into his blue three wheeled tuk-tuk taxi. The tuk-tuk was driving by with the last of a small group of foreigners who had straggled out of the train station later than he, but from the same train that he had.
From a hot Tuk-Tuk taxi ride leading to the train station to being a carcass in a refrigerated car, and then from thinking himself as a member of a couple with marital problems to one slowly sensing in his lone journey out of Bangkok that he was separate and separated, he was now journeying through the toilet of the mind that was as fetid as a brother's sock and as explosive and debilitating as the non-ending barrage of critical words from the miscreants he knew familiarly as family.
The woman who was particularly kind to me was the wife of Eatum; and the Dean and I at once called her Mrs. Eatum, which made them all yeh-yeh very much; and they got to calling her that too, as near, at least, as they could pronounce it which was, Impsuseatum. Her right name was Serkut, which means 'little nose'; Eatum's right name was Tuk-tuk, that is, reindeer, because he could run very fast.
From the appearance of their wet and tangled hair when the tuk-tuk was slowly passing him by he assumed subconsciously that they had taken showers in the train station restrooms and, like him, were now probably on their way to Vientiane.
He took a bus ride with myriad others across the Friendship Bridge of the Mekong river, filled out his entry card at this extended checkpoint, his passport eventually being stamped in a line of waiting and moving but seemingly going nowhere, he paid a new monetary charge, the cryptic exit fee then shared a tuk-tuk for a forty minute ride to the city, sometimes witnessing exaggerated gestures and hearing jocular comments about how cold it was from Laotians and Thais, some in both shorts and hooded jackets, though not from westerners who didn't seem to suffer any distress outside of blowing strands of disheveled hair.
Preferring to allow the possibility of being murdered than to continue in the meaningless domicile of his empty shell, he told the tuk-tuk driver to take him to the train station instead of the border.
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