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About Sengkang

Anyway, I’m thinkin’—what’s the draw? Freedom? Danger? Gets me all tingly, like when Huppert’s clutchin’ that machete—wild stuff. “I’m not leaving this place,” she growls in the flick. Prostitutes got that grit too, y’know? Standin’ there, rain hittin’ ‘em, darin’ ya to judge. Surprised me once—this gal, sharp as hell, told me she paid her way through art school. Hustlin’! Who knew, right?

God At Geylang

A few years ago, I stayed in Geylang on a stopover. I paid $50 for a Thai from a pimp, $60 for a Chinese hooker, $80 for an Indonesian FL SYT.

Then I hit up Lorong 9. It’s like a whole different world. The lights, the vibe—it’s electric. But then, outta nowhere, I see this massive traffic jam. Cars honking like they’re in a race. I’m like, “Seriously? It’s just Geylang!” I was ready to lose it.

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