Over Chulia Street lightning crackles across the tropical purple black night like electric river systems flowing through the sky. A heavy rain cleared away the oppressive humidity. I’m barely sweating I walk by the Hong Kong Bar. The old banci whores hiss at me to join them in a drink. My No Beer Week continues. I smile back and shout back, “Esok kita minum.”

‘Tomorrow we drink’. Malay is the easiest language in the world. No articles or a need for tenses.

I went to bed early at 11:00, listening to the BBC on my world band radio. Danny, the owner of the Swiss Hotel said that this afternoon Rob called to say the money hgoing to be sent to the HK Bank on Beach Street and the ticket should be forthcoming. Being short on rations I’ve trimmed another 5 lbs. for my girth and with my embargo on beer I might lose all of the fat cells around my waist, but I’m recovering from my long binge.

Don Drysdale still died at only 56.

Only another 15 years until I’m that old although I’ll never be a Hall of Famer. Newsweek published an article about risks to men. To the average impact zone for a male at 41 exercising moderately, a little overweight, smoking pot and drinking are not a death sentence. No mention of drugs. I can’t change that my father has a history of heart problems. So quitting drink and losing weight might gain a chance to be a septuagenarian, for quitting might save my life like the antagonist of Hardy’s Mayor of Castle Bridge, who had not taken a drink for 20 years.

It’s been six days, since I had a drink. I reckon I can make it the week. The great God beer is calling my name. Singing me a siren song beer beer beer beer beer beer beer beer. I’ll be drinking a few at the Hong Kong bar on Chula Street. I heard music in the air like I was listening to God.