thailand 1/19: vorachuck and chatachak

That afternoon, Chuck brought me to the big weekend market. Brunch had been a small (but hip) catastrophe, during which I’d ordered the Exotic Fruit Plate, and received a bowl of elaborately diced apples and bananas. The cha-yen, sweet, burnt-sienna froth and caffeinated malt - cleared any semblance of a hangover.
The Chatachak market, according to Chuck’s cursory expertise of plebian consumer habits, is a quadrangle of offerings: Clothes, Household, Plants and Pets. We perused clothes, and haggled perfunctorily for two pairs of fishermen pants for me. I wanted to most wanted see the Pets, naturally. We ambled through tight, outdoor corridors lined with crated knots of labradoodle and shi-tzu puppy, dazed with heat and petting. . . cat-pink tongues lapping diseasedly at dozens of foreign hands. If I had much more of a social conscience, I would have thought it was sad, but luckily, I don't. I cooed a lot, and continued to smear my dirty hands behind warm ears and across wet noses, and left simply feeling happy that I'd gotten to pet dogs.
We had a Thai dinner at a fancy shopping plaza called the Paragon. There was some good, spicy soup and a papaya salad macerated in fermented fish, which tasted alright, but smelled in a way that precisely captured the essence of rotting piscine innards. There was a standing offer to go dancing again, but the thought of skin-tight Min and liquor terrified me, so I opted for a jaunt at the large night market, where I was disappointed to find no pets, but an impressive selection of ninja stars.