People on streets

After just under two weeks of haze craze, PSI numbers fall, visibility clears, and the air tastes refreshingly free of burnt rubber. Since no one knows if this recent development is mere respite or remission, I figured I’d grab the chance for a walk in the park.

PSI fell off a cliff, and hopefully never bounces back.

I don’t think much of PSI numbers. I’ll concede it can be a very useful measure of a very specific set of pollutants, but for an individual, there’s an easier way, called sticking your head out and taking a whiff. After all, I live in the East, and work in the South (as per NEA’s geographical definitions). As much as I miss the smell of burnt cocoa at Boon Lay MRT, (thanks Cadbury and ADM cocoa) my lungs can’t inhale that far.

Back in East Coast Park, feet slapping pavement, two items catch my attention.

One; there are a lot of people in East Coast on a Saturday night. Two; more than two aforementioned people are lying/sleeping/passed out on the floor.

By passed out on the floor, I don’t mean curled up with a makeshift pillow and a blanket under the numerous shelters along the park. I mean like this dude below, who looks like he sleep-rolled off the bench and onto the floor.

Sleeping like a baby.

Or like the young indian girl who was sprawled by the overhead bridge. I’m going to risk belaboring the obvious, but if you’re a slim female, with large breasts and a very short skirt, it might be a good idea to be very careful with what you consume. 

For reasons of modesty, I didn’t snap a picture. Her crotch was visible enough that would likely get my blog noticed for the wrong reasons. It was particularly troubling, because she didn’t reek of alcohol, and was fairly young and attractive. My first guess is date rape drug. But I’m no expert in these matters.

Thankfully, I wasn’t the only one who stopped to help. A few good Samaritans, including a rather hot milf in red shorts, a burly Indian man, a homely pinoy woman, and a trio of young NS men came along and started helping in ways that could only be described as random. While I’m trying to rouse indian girl, Burly tells pinoy to fetch some water. She returns, and Burly instructs me to stand back.

Stand back? Dude, how much water are you going to planning to – he pours a handful of water into his palm, and flings it against her face with somewhat more force than I was anticipating. No response.

Somewhere in the background, one of the NS trio goes, ‘fwahlaueh’.

Somewhat startled by Burly’s enthusiasm, I start shaking her with more urgency, lest he decides to douse the entire 1.5L bottle on her. Meanwhile, pinoy and milfy are tending to the delicate task of hiding too much crotch with too little skirt. They settle for placing her handbag strategically between her legs.

Meanwhile, burly has slapped at least three palms of water to the girl’s face, and I’m half-worried she’ll drown before she wakes up. Finally, she stirs, muttering and sputtering weakly. Of course, Burly then proceeds to grab her by the hair and tug her into a sitting position.

I’m convinced Burly is a time-travelling caveman; give him a stone axe and a shopping list that includes mastodon meat and sabre-toothed tiger pelts.

Somehow, we manage to raise indian girl to her feet with no hair loss, although the same can’t be said for her memory; she has no clue how she got here. Troubling to say the least, but at least she’s sober enough to protest against being sent to a police station to sleep off her condition. Round of discussion. 

Burly, clearly a man of action, starts speaking loudly in Tamil. I have no clue what he’s saying, but my sympathies lie with indian girl, who after recently revived, nearly drowned, and barely able to stand, now has to contend with a mustachioed caveman gibbering loudly to her face.

Eventually we decide to get her into a cab. Next issue, she says she has no money - nothing like budgetary constraints to stop a discussion in its tracks. Finally, milfy steps in, opens the handbag, and rummages through indian girl’s belongings.

‘I have no money,’ indian girl murmurs…then somewhat brightly, ‘but I have cigarettes!’

Thanks to milfy, turns out Indian girl does have money ('Oh, I do?' she says), and enough to get her home by taxi. But not before one of the NS trio suddenly swoops into interrogator mode, firing off questions, ‘What do you last remember? Who were you with? What were you doing?’ More than a few of us frowned, including Burly, although it’s hard to tell from his Neanderthal uni-brow whether he was perplexed or thinking of his next meal.

Finally, we get her into a cab, and the entire episode is punctuated by Burly slamming the taxi door.

I hope indian girl is home safe.