So I’m sat last night in this little Lebanese joint down the Arab Quarter over by The Marine Plaza Hotel, yeah. One of those places where the tables are so close you could accidentally propose to the people eating next to you just by reaching for the salt. I’d had enough of Thai food for the day. Don’t get me wrong, I love it. But sometimes a bloke just wants chicken shawarma, hummus, some tabbouleh, and something that tastes like it hasn’t been deep fried or doused in chili by accident.

 

I’m halfway through me plate, garlic sauce all over me fingers, when I clock the pair sat next to me. Bloke looks Arab, late forties maybe, crisp shirt, neat beard, relaxed confidence. Opposite him is this blond Russian looking bird. Tall. Proper looker. Sharp cheekbones, cool eyes, the kind of woman who looks like she knows what rent costs on three continents. She’s young. Late twenties maybe. Early thirties at a push. And they do not look like they belong in the same chapter of life.

 

Anyway, I don’t give it much thought. Pattaya go Pattaya. He gets up to head to the bog and as he slides past my chair his elbow clips the edge of the table and her phone goes sailing off like it’s making a break from the frontline. Pure instinct, I catch it mid air like I’m auditioning for a Marvel film. Hand it right back to her. No drama.

 

She smiles. Says thank you. Proper thank you. The bloke checks the screen. No damage. Gives me a nod and a smile. Then he heads off to the loo.

 

The moment he’s gone she leans in.

 

Quick talk. Low voice. Efficient.

 

She tells me he pays her rent. Covers her monthly expenses. Comes to visit a few times a year. Nice enough guy. No complaints. Just how things are. She's got a comfortable ride. 

 

As she’s talking, the phone lights up in her hand. I catch a glimpse. Sender's name in Cyrillic text. Short message preview.

 

"Money Sent!"

 

That’s it. Nothing romantic. Nothing dramatic. Just a transaction confirmed.

 

She clocks my eyes flick down and smiles again. Like she knows exactly what I just understood.

 

She asks how long I’ve lived here. Says I seem calm. Writes her WhatsApp number on a napkin while she’s talking, like she’s ordering dessert. Slides it toward me.

 

The waiter comes over right then and starts clearing plates. The napkin sticks to the hummus smear at the edge and nearly goes with them. For half a second I hesitate. Then I grab it without thinking and stuff it in me pocket.

 

Instant regret.

 

The bloke comes back from the toilet smiling like nothing in the world could trouble him. Too relaxed. Too comfortable. He even offers me a bit of his bread. What a kind geezer. 

 

We finish eating in polite silence. No tension. No drama. Just cutlery and aircon.

 

I get up first. Nod to him. Smile to her. Say a casual goodbye like this was all perfectly normal.

 

As I turn to leave, I glance back once.

 

She’s already looking at her phone.

 

That’s it.

 

Outside, Pattaya hits me in the face. Noise. Baht buses. Life carrying on. I pull the napkin out, look at the number once, then fold it back up and stick it in me pocket.

 

The food was decent. Not mind blowing if I'm to be honest. But it hit the spot.

 

Some things look better on the menu than they do once you know what they’re made from.

 

And that’s alright.

 

Peace out... Lewie.

Burn the napkin, Lewie.

I wish I was a hansom man like you Bob, you have a way with women ,they

seem to fall at your feet , is it your charisma or the aftershave you use,

one problem , can you afford a lady like that or are you expecting freebies.

 

peace out regards Worgeordie

He has a way with shoyte but mildly interesting  threads anyway.

 

Keep at it Lewie, 3 new threads in 3 days you're getting back to your original pace.

9 hours ago, Lewie London said:

So I’m sat last night in this little Lebanese joint down the Arab Quarter over by The Marine Plaza Hotel, yeah. One of those places where the tables are so close you could accidentally propose to the people eating next to you just by reaching for the salt. I’d had enough of Thai food for the day. Don’t get me wrong, I love it. But sometimes a bloke just wants chicken shawarma, hummus, some tabbouleh, and something that tastes like it hasn’t been deep fried or doused in chili by accident.

 

I’m halfway through me plate, garlic sauce all over me fingers, when I clock the pair sat next to me. Bloke looks Arab, late forties maybe, crisp shirt, neat beard, relaxed confidence. Opposite him is this blond Russian looking bird. Tall. Proper looker. Sharp cheekbones, cool eyes, the kind of woman who looks like she knows what rent costs on three continents. She’s young. Late twenties maybe. Early thirties at a push. And they do not look like they belong in the same chapter of life.

 

Anyway, I don’t give it much thought. Pattaya go Pattaya. He gets up to head to the bog and as he slides past my chair his elbow clips the edge of the table and her phone goes sailing off like it’s making a break from the frontline. Pure instinct, I catch it mid air like I’m auditioning for a Marvel film. Hand it right back to her. No drama.

 

She smiles. Says thank you. Proper thank you. The bloke checks the screen. No damage. Gives me a nod and a smile. Then he heads off to the loo.

 

The moment he’s gone she leans in.

 

Quick talk. Low voice. Efficient.

 

She tells me he pays her rent. Covers her monthly expenses. Comes to visit a few times a year. Nice enough guy. No complaints. Just how things are. She's got a comfortable ride. 

 

As she’s talking, the phone lights up in her hand. I catch a glimpse. Sender's name in Cyrillic text. Short message preview.

 

"Money Sent!"

 

That’s it. Nothing romantic. Nothing dramatic. Just a transaction confirmed.

 

She clocks my eyes flick down and smiles again. Like she knows exactly what I just understood.

 

She asks how long I’ve lived here. Says I seem calm. Writes her WhatsApp number on a napkin while she’s talking, like she’s ordering dessert. Slides it toward me.

 

The waiter comes over right then and starts clearing plates. The napkin sticks to the hummus smear at the edge and nearly goes with them. For half a second I hesitate. Then I grab it without thinking and stuff it in me pocket.

 

Instant regret.

 

The bloke comes back from the toilet smiling like nothing in the world could trouble him. Too relaxed. Too comfortable. He even offers me a bit of his bread. What a kind geezer. 

 

We finish eating in polite silence. No tension. No drama. Just cutlery and aircon.

 

I get up first. Nod to him. Smile to her. Say a casual goodbye like this was all perfectly normal.

 

As I turn to leave, I glance back once.

 

She’s already looking at her phone.

 

That’s it.

 

Outside, Pattaya hits me in the face. Noise. Baht buses. Life carrying on. I pull the napkin out, look at the number once, then fold it back up and stick it in me pocket.

 

The food was decent. Not mind blowing if I'm to be honest. But it hit the spot.

 

Some things look better on the menu than they do once you know what they’re made from.

 

And that’s alright.

 

Peace out... Lewie.

I call bob smith bs as usual

1 hour ago, worgeordie said:

I wish I was a hansom man like you Bob, you have a way with women ,they

seem to fall at your feet , is it your charisma or the aftershave you use,

one problem , can you afford a lady like that or are you expecting freebies.

 

peace out regards Worgeordie

Im sure if she where as portrayed she would have spied his fake folex watch and smelled his hai karate after-shave and wouldnt waste a second look at him. 

A very pleasant tale, again well told!

Thanks, Lewie. Keep 'em coming!