The rain cascaded from plastic pipes onto Soi 6. The sewers were clogged by plastic and the overflow gurgled from the gutters to flood the street with an ankle-deep puddle. Not a single farang have braved the deluge for an hour. The street was empty. Not a single girl had gone short-time. Some tried to explain the farang word ‘recession’ to the others. None of it made any sense. Once there were farangs and now there were not any farangs.

“Did they all die?” Nat asked under the awning of the Chic Bar. She earned enough money from the Chic Bar to take care of her family in Surin. At least until this month. All the other girls of the Chic Bar were inside, trying to stay warm. It was impossible in near-nude clothing.

“Not die. Finish money. Farang same Thai. Mai mii daeng.’ Oom explained to her co-workers. She had lived with three farangs, married one, and traveled to Germany twice. Farang men were not too different from Thai men. Two arms, two legs, and a haam or dick. Same-same only more stupid about Thai ways.

“Not have money?” Nat was a fat girl. She had big breasts. Many farangs liked her. “How farang not have money?”

“You think farang same durian tree. Every year have money. Every day have money?” Oom hitched up her super short jeans. She was cold. The rain had chilled the tropics from Pattaya. She leaned closer to her little cousin. The 18 year-old was shivering in the damp. It was only dtù-laa-kom. Winter was still two months away.

“Everyone say farang have big money.” Ping was young. She was skinny. Every farang wanted to go with her. Most days she had five customers. Other days six. Today none.

“Everyone in Ban-nok think all farang rich.” Oom laughed throwing back her head. “What ban-nok know about farang. Only what see on TV. And TV lie to everyone. Farang money mot. Finished.”

“What we do? Farang no have money.” Ping heard that the go-go bars on Walking Street were empty. If the farangs weren’t coming to Walking Street or Soi 6, they weren’t going anywhere.

“Work nah?” Oom motioned a cutting movement with her hand. Her parents were fighting to save their crop. Too much rain had flooded the fields. Too little rain and no rice. Too much rain and too little rice. Never good.

“I not work nah.” Ping had slaved for her parents until sh was 17. The family buffalo died and her parents sent their youngest daughter to Pattaya to earn enough money for anotehr kwaii. She had given them three. They wanted one more.

“No one work nah.” Oom had left the rice fields at 16. No one in her family had cut rice stalks since then. She was a star.

“Work what?” Ping was new to this life. Less than a month, but she couldn’t see laboring in the hot sun. That work was for slaves or Cambodians.

“Not 7-11.” Oom had worked at the franchise on Soi Buahkhao for two week.The pay was 5000/month. A farang had asked her to go home with her. She had said no. 5000 baht for one night changed her mind. She had never worked a real job since. “Now not time for work> Now time to find one farang. Tell him you love him. Tell him you never leave him. Tell him you hate Thai men.”

“I do that many time.” Ping had set up house with one French man, two Germans, and one Swiss. “Farang not stay now. Farang kap ban.”

“Ching ching true. So you meet good farang now. You stay with him. Play good pu-ying.” oom wasn’t quite sure why she was telling her co-workers this. they weren’t family. They were the competition. Only now times were too tough to pretend everyone was no good. She knew more than most and Ping was always good to Pai. “We help you. You help us. Maybe we lucky. One two three.”

Thunder shattered the air. A lightning blot sizzled to the ground. Not far away. Thre three girls shook with fear. Each had lost a family member to fáa-lâep.

“Not be scared. Everything be good.” Oom hugged her cousin. She could almost believe everything she said, except the street was empty and promised to be that way for a long time. This was not good, then again nothing was every really good on Soi 6.

Good was for someplace else.

Someplace far away from here.

Only none of them knew where.

“I buy tequila.” It was the last of Oom’s money. Her boyfriend was in trouble. Her family farm under threat of a flood. drinking was the only thing they could do. It had to stop raining sooner or later.

The two other girls smiled, as if the sun was coming out of the leaden sky.

Oom smiled back. She didn’t feel so cold anymore.

The three were sisters.

And three sisters were stronger than two.

Every day of the week.

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