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About Jakarta

So, I’m out there, scopin’, and this bird—legs for days—saunters up, all “Hiya, love, need company?” I’m thinkin’, “Bloody hell, she’s bold!”—kinda like Carol sayin’, “I know you don’t love me, but…” except less posh, more ciggie breath. Made me happy, though—straight-up hustle, no faff. But then—fuckin’ hell—some geezer rocks up, all “Oi, that’s my girl!” and I’m like, “Mate, calm your tits, I ain’t stealin’!” Nearly shat meself—angry pimps? No thanks.

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Then I stop by this little warung for breakfast. You know, the kind with the best nasi goreng? I’m all about that fried rice life. I order it, and the lady behind the counter gives me this huge smile. I’m thinking, “Yes! This is gonna be good.” But then, she takes forever! I’m sitting there, watching the world go by, and I’m like, “C’mon, I got places to be!” Finally, she hands me my plate, and it’s like a masterpiece. I take a bite, and it’s heaven. I’m happy again.

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