HE TOLD ME he’d meet me at the corner of the station where Citibank had a small office.
‘I’ll be wearing my Rocky T-shirt,’ he added.
I went through the ticket barriers and found him bunched and braced like a boxer in a ring.
He turned, bouncing lightly on his toes. ‘Yes.’
‘I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.’
‘Lunchtime, no? Come. We can have teppanyaki in the mall: top floor food court. Good calorific value.’
He led the way, side-stepping and sparring with his own shadow. He kept his head down and moved swiftly through the crowd. On the escalator, he zoomed up past a stream of young girls tittering into their hands, and prancing boys working hard with blue clipboards.
At the top, he asked me some quick-fire questions: how long had I been in Singapore? What did I think of the place? There wasn’t a lot to say. I had arrived the day... Read more
To access the full text version of this article, login if you are a subscriber.
Subscribe to Griffith REVIEW or purchase the edition in our Online Store.