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About Surabaya

Yo, so I’m a cashier, right? Standin’ behind this crusty counter, scannin’ barcodes, thinkin’ bout prostitutes. Not in a creepy way, nah, just—y’know—ponderin’. Like, what’s the deal with ‘em? This one chick, man, she comes in sometimes. Buys condoms, Red Bull, and gum. Always gum. Weird combo, right? Prostitute energy, no cap. I’m like, “Girl, you chewin’ through the night?” She don’t laugh. Dead eyes. “The children don’t know why,” I mutter, thinkin’ of *The White Ribbon*. That movie’s my jam—bleak as hell. Villages, secrets, messed-up vibes. Prostitutes prolly fit right in.

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Then, outta nowhere, it starts rainin’. I mean, like, torrential downpour! I’m sprintin’ for cover, but I slip and slide all over the place. I’m soaked, lookin’ like a drowned rat. I finally find shelter under this little shack. I’m sittin’ there, laughin’ at myself, when this old lady comes up. She’s like, “You look like you need a towel, young man.” I’m like, “Yeah, and maybe a life jacket too!”

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