MANICHAEAN
10-22-2025, 05:51 AM
It had already been a great evening thus far and the fish restaurant in Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea had lived up to its reputation. Formalities dispensed with; the preliminary line of advance, (for what was termed a Safety Managers team building exercise), gorged itself on copious platters of; local crab, lobster, prawns, and rice, sustained in liquid equipoise by the smooth balance and genius of Jack Daniels bourbon.
Then, if I remember correctly, it was the Scotsman who initiated the main offensive.
“The night is still young. Where are we going on to from here laddies?”
For those of you unacquainted with the more down market dives of Papua New Guinea, there is an establishment in the capital called “The Weigh Inn,” that I will now endeavour to describe.
Past the razor wire surrounding the car park, one enters a fairly modest reception, and turns left into a cacophony of noise and smoke in which geriatric Australian expats dosed up on Cialis and beer, paw female silverbacks amidst a collection of unstable bar stools. Twilight alcoves and the occasional recumbent sleeping lush add to the ambience. I do believe there was a guitarist in the far corner but he didn’t stand a chance.
All in all, it was my kind of joint.
Drinks were ordered, the circling night fighters closed in, seemingly reinforced from Flack Alley outside. One younger one in the midst of our group, then proceeded to strip off an outer top layer as a precursor ready for what the night would bring.
“Oh, there is a God!” exclaimed Nicolas viewing her impressive balcony, “And she’s got a tattoo on the other side!”
Upon making discreet enquiries after her general health and well-being, he was reassured to ascertain that she was only twenty and still in a state of innocence. She smiled suggestively, and almost indulgently. I do believe at one point, that she was offered employment as a welder back on the construction site!
Elsewhere on the left flank, the alpha-female of the tribe closed in on the Scotsman; effectively blocking any thoughts of escape towards the door he had so innocently entered. Blood-red teeth from chewing betel nut added to her charms, along with her pedigree as a chief’s daughter down from one of the hill tribes for a spot of R&R.
I was myself led astray to an alcove, where a slim, dark young lady with claw like fingers, and prominent, yet attractive teeth laid a gentle hand on my upper arm and spoke soft monosyllables in cryptic terms of dreams and spells that even my classical English education was unable to unravel regards meaning and perception. It seemed to range from crudities unimaginable to one raised as a nice Jewish boy from North London, to musings on extended families living in dark forests with exotic creatures of the world's last existing paradise. She was tactile, complex, feminine, streetwise and quite fascinating. Also I might add, it was the first bit of young crumpet I had been near for three months.
I could not remember much after that, only that the drink kept coming; my senses deadened, and the kangaroos from Oz started a fight over Limey poofters trespassing on their wild life park.
I woke up the next morning in a strange room. My mouth was dry, my head throbbed and the handcuffs securing me to the bed came as a surprise, cutting uncomfortably into my wrists.
In the corner, adding garlic and baby yams to a steaming pot was the Vamp from last night. Hooded eyes viewed me coldly as she stirred. Other creatures of the mist sat around with obvious appetites.
It had been a good nights hunting and breakfast would soon be ready.
Then, if I remember correctly, it was the Scotsman who initiated the main offensive.
“The night is still young. Where are we going on to from here laddies?”
For those of you unacquainted with the more down market dives of Papua New Guinea, there is an establishment in the capital called “The Weigh Inn,” that I will now endeavour to describe.
Past the razor wire surrounding the car park, one enters a fairly modest reception, and turns left into a cacophony of noise and smoke in which geriatric Australian expats dosed up on Cialis and beer, paw female silverbacks amidst a collection of unstable bar stools. Twilight alcoves and the occasional recumbent sleeping lush add to the ambience. I do believe there was a guitarist in the far corner but he didn’t stand a chance.
All in all, it was my kind of joint.
Drinks were ordered, the circling night fighters closed in, seemingly reinforced from Flack Alley outside. One younger one in the midst of our group, then proceeded to strip off an outer top layer as a precursor ready for what the night would bring.
“Oh, there is a God!” exclaimed Nicolas viewing her impressive balcony, “And she’s got a tattoo on the other side!”
Upon making discreet enquiries after her general health and well-being, he was reassured to ascertain that she was only twenty and still in a state of innocence. She smiled suggestively, and almost indulgently. I do believe at one point, that she was offered employment as a welder back on the construction site!
Elsewhere on the left flank, the alpha-female of the tribe closed in on the Scotsman; effectively blocking any thoughts of escape towards the door he had so innocently entered. Blood-red teeth from chewing betel nut added to her charms, along with her pedigree as a chief’s daughter down from one of the hill tribes for a spot of R&R.
I was myself led astray to an alcove, where a slim, dark young lady with claw like fingers, and prominent, yet attractive teeth laid a gentle hand on my upper arm and spoke soft monosyllables in cryptic terms of dreams and spells that even my classical English education was unable to unravel regards meaning and perception. It seemed to range from crudities unimaginable to one raised as a nice Jewish boy from North London, to musings on extended families living in dark forests with exotic creatures of the world's last existing paradise. She was tactile, complex, feminine, streetwise and quite fascinating. Also I might add, it was the first bit of young crumpet I had been near for three months.
I could not remember much after that, only that the drink kept coming; my senses deadened, and the kangaroos from Oz started a fight over Limey poofters trespassing on their wild life park.
I woke up the next morning in a strange room. My mouth was dry, my head throbbed and the handcuffs securing me to the bed came as a surprise, cutting uncomfortably into my wrists.
In the corner, adding garlic and baby yams to a steaming pot was the Vamp from last night. Hooded eyes viewed me coldly as she stirred. Other creatures of the mist sat around with obvious appetites.
It had been a good nights hunting and breakfast would soon be ready.