Here I am sitting in a quiet, rustic Balinese warung for the past hour or so, enjoying a few cheap beers and attempting to write something meaningful or funny; both would be fantastic. And surprising.
Still, my ego is pacified when the waiter says he likes my look, my hair in particular. I understand it’s a pretty severe personality flaw to like/want completely random people’s adulation but spelunking that particular dank cave is a tale for another time.
I suggest to this spritely young chap that he too could have his hair cut into a Mohawk. I continue to ramble on that I had it cut not 500 metres from this very establishment, in a salon owned by a transgendered individual. I claim that she was one of the nicest men I’d ever met.
Goodbye meaningful. Goodbye funny. I mentioned the cheap beers right?