The Taxi Driver

The Thai are a beautiful people. But I don't think it has anything to do with superior having a superior gene pool. Its simply a matter of demographics. Whereas in Japan, all you see are the middle-aged plus (and a concentration of ancient men and women in the countrysides), most of the people you see in Thailand are in the full bloom of their youths. It is these vibrant, productive (and reproductive) people, rather than gentile conservativism which define the character of Bangkok. There is energy here, a wild live-for-the-moment energy that is intoxicatingly beautiful, with just the hint of danger like the way you can just taste the lemon in a Thai stew...

The people who epitomize this energy are the taxi-drivers. They are often young, often reckless, always male. And once, on my first time in a taxi, seductively handsome. I've never been attracted to American blacks, something in the skin color I always thought, and yet here this guy... dark skinned, hooded eyes, gloved hands of the type where the fingers stay bare. Dark hair, quick smile, halting English... speaking mostly in that language which I am quickly growing to love. Japanese is cute and kawaii like the society itself. Thai, however... has a beat, a rhythm that throbs. A sexiness that Japanese can never be.

"We friends?" a briliant smile.

Yes, I nod. Friends. We both know we wouldn't ever see each other again. Not in this city of eleven million. Each encounter is a mystery, a gamble. Like anonymous sex.

I hope I don't get lost.