The mind fuzzily recollects thoughts of a monotonous Friday workday full of meetings and urgent emails jarringly clashing with the foggy images of alcoholic debauchery under the neon filled Bangkok night sky.
The Seafood Bar is a memory of every incarnation of oyster from mashed potato and Guinness, Grilled, Baked, Bacon and Cheese, Seaweed wrapped and Sake soaked, washed down with 4 or 5 different champagne brands. We spend 4 hours gorging on the stuff. There was a beautiful woman sitting next to me and more around us. She was sexy and smart. We get along well. I think. Getting invites to a VIP party has some perks. I rarely see how Beautiful People live. It is good. At least on the surface. From what I can remember.
The champagne created fuzziness in my mind parts to reveal the second stop of our night - a performance bar somewhere called The Carribean. Or the Caribou? Maybe it was the Cucumber... I'm not sure.
We arrive just before midnight. The party has started. A dozen topless girls gyrate to Sean Kingston. Bored patrons ignore them as they speak, caress, grope the specific girl they've booked for the night. The place is HUGE. The size of a football field with two stages. Girls sweating from previous performances approach the bar where we are seated seeking drinks to quench their thirsts.
Glasses of multi colored liquid are set on fire and we down them. My blue colored drink tastes like Clorox. Blue Whatverthefuk meets the Champagne in my stomach. The oysters in the belly now raise up from the dead, Zombie like and dance around my stomach walls. i ask for some water and a girl in a thong and bikini top passes me a mineral water that she had not yet drunk from and calls in sing song Thai across the bar for another.
It's 3am and I only remember that that I have 3 hours to go before i have to catch my cab to the airport. I give manly hugs to the guys, shake the hand of the girl who has been talking to me (a masters degree holder who earns more working in a bar than of she were to start as a freshie in any company in Bangkok) and manage to walk out looking stone cold sober and manage to commandeer the only honest cab driver on the street back to my hotel.
The fuzziness is there. I do not remember much of the flight back.
All I remember is that those oysters were damn good. And she had nice eyes.