It was seven-ish and I was sitting in a pleasant-enough room overlooking the front entrance to the pub above which I had just moved in. The pub was the Pig and Whistle on Soi 7 in Pattaya. Across the way was a big hole, which they were hoping to build a hotel in and next door to that, right opposite me, was a small bar with one woman sitting on a stool outside it. Not that there was a wall there, it was open on two sides. The Soi was lovely and peaceful, I thought. I also thought that I might go and sit in that little bar and talk to that lady, if my friend was late, because I would surely see him arrive from two metres away, the width of the Soi.
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