Club culture was packed. The hip dance venue located by Phaya Thai BTS in Northern Bangkok was one of the few places that played a sembelance of Indy rock. Despite its claim to hipsterness the djs mainly played random american pop including; Britney Spears, Maroon 5, and the Cardigans (who aren't bad but aren't American). The Thai kids didn't really care, nor for that matter did I, given my state of slight inebriation. I had downed a few libations outside of the club in a small stand a hundred meters away from the entry. Inside the club the beers were 150 baht, outside they were 70 baht and an extra liter.
My shirt was wet with sweat and I worried for a moment about my persperiation but then I didn't care.
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Everything involving the sphere of loss --- that is, what I have lost of myself, the time that has gone; and disappearance, flight and the general evanescence of things, and even what in the prevalent and therefore most vulgar social sense of time is called wasted time – all this finds in that strangely apt old military term, lost children.
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