Colour of night

The colour of night is hot red and neon blue; faded Miami pink against baby-blue hues. Neon colours pierce the darkest corners of night, splash about the pavement, are cast tattoo-like upon the skin of each passerby. The lights work their magic. Slyly, they dim the ageing faces of the girls perched on bar stools slowly sipping Leo through a lipstick coated straw.  A solitary ice cube bobs against the rim,  time with each small sip, slowly diminishing with man that walks on by.

Time is the real commodity here. Time spent waiting alone is time spent without anything to show for it. Time is indeed a cruel master. Free days to visit mamma and pappa come and pass too briefly. Time back in the Provinces comes between the seasons: the ‘make money’ season, when tourists pack the bars and everyone wants a companion followed by the tortuous low season, when the monsoon rains blanket the cities and conspires to keep all but the ‘regs’ away. As the daylight gives way to night, the reds, blues and babydoll pinks flicker to life again. Smiles are switched on, lips stick applies, pour me a Leo …