Author’s Note: Kids, please close this text immediately, put down the phone, and go do your homework. Adults, welcome to the psychological realities of the fishing village.
There is a specific kind of silence in the cheap hotel rooms of Pattaya. It is the hum of a laboring air conditioner, the rhythmic creaking of a cheap mattress, and the heavy, determined breathing of a foreign man trying to convince himself that he is an exceptional lover.
He is putting in the effort. He is sweating. He is trying to create a cinematic, passionate moment.
But if he could read the mind of the woman beneath him, his ego would shatter into a thousand pieces. Because Dao is not in the room with him. Her body is on the bed, but her mind is hovering entirely over his right shoulder, locked onto the muted 42-inch flat-screen TV mounted on the wall.
For the girls of the neon ecosystem, dissociation is not a trauma response. It is a professional skill.
Dao watches the silent news broadcast, mentally calculating her monthly expenses while occasionally adjusting her breathing to give the client the audio feedback he desperately needs.
The news anchor disappears, replaced by a clip from America. A man with bright, strange orange hair is standing at a podium, aggressively pointing his finger. The ticker tape at the bottom says something about trade tariffs.
Who is this angry redhead? Dao thinks. He looks exactly like that British guy from Soi 6 last year who screamed at the bartender over a 50-baht pool game. Wait, is that the American president? Whatever.
The client shifts his weight, grunting slightly. Dao mechanically wraps her arms around his back, giving him a gentle, encouraging squeeze. Keep going, you’re doing great, she thinks, completely detached.
The TV screen switches to footage of the Cambodian border. Military trucks. Barbed wire. Thai soldiers looking through binoculars across the checkpoint.
Dao’s eyes narrow. That is near Surin. Her family’s house is only 30 kilometers from that exact border crossing. She remembers the LINE message her mother sent this morning: her little sister’s school was conducting air-raid and evacuation drills. I need to send an extra 2,000 baht this month, she calculates quickly. Just in case they need to pack up and move further inland for a few weeks.
The client lets out a heavy sigh, clearly nearing the finish line of his imaginary marathon. Dao arches her back slightly. It is a purely tactical move to speed up the process.
On the screen, the broadcast shifts to Bangkok. Thai police are parading a group of handcuffed Chinese nationals in gray polo shirts. A table is covered in seized laptops and hundreds of burner phones. An illegal call center syndicate.
Good, Dao thinks with a flicker of genuine malice. It reminds her of a Chinese tourist from three months ago who slipped out of a hotel room while she was in the bathroom, taking the 3,000 baht they had agreed upon with him. Never trust the guys who bargain too hard.
She mentally checks her calendar. Do I need to pay the Honda City car loan on the 25th or the 28th? If I miss it again, they’ll charge the late fee.
Suddenly, the screen flashes with bright colors. A smiling Thai politician appears next to a giant graphic of the Thai Baht and a big number: 10,000 THB.
It’s the new government digital wallet stimulus program. The news ticker confirms the payout dates. Next month, she is getting 10,000 baht from the government. She can use it to clear the interest on the loan shark debt back in the village. This is fantastic news.
A genuine, radiant smile breaks across her face.
The client looks down, sees her glowing, ecstatic smile, and assumes it is entirely because of his unparalleled bedroom skills. Fueled by pride, he pushes through his final, triumphant effort. A heavy exhale. A sudden stop. The bed stops squeaking.
He rolls over onto his back, panting, staring at the ceiling.
“Was it good?” he asks, catching his breath.
“So good, tirak. You are very strong,” she replies smoothly, her eyes never leaving the TV screen.
He smiles, kisses her forehead, gets out of bed, and walks proudly into the bathroom to take a shower.
Dao listens to the water turn on. She lets out a long, quiet sigh of relief and reaches for her phone on the bedside table to check her bank app.
The government money is coming. The car loan can be paid. The client is in the shower.
Just one piece of fantastic news after another.
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