in an alleys tucked away

from the dazzling street lights of Orchard Rd

and the impetuous money squanderers in Marina Bay Sands

we walk

jaws tight,

back straight,

shoulder tense,

hands clasped around bags,

huddled together like a pack of wolves.

tonight,

gruff voices,

              sultry giggles,

   and stolen kisses

linger in the air

                               as used condoms lay pathetically on the pavement

        and posters of naked women scatter

                     against the dilapidated buildings

we sit in a food court

with plates of Hainanese chicken rice

(our favourite)

in front of us.

the aroma, an amalgam of

ginger, turmeric, chili, coconut

drifts through the night breeze

we are hungry teenagers.

usually by now we are salivating,

waiting for our food impatiently,

laughing over immature, mundane jokes.

but today our table is silent

all our minds seem to be able to register is

  the artificial gasps and giggles of women,

  the shroud of smoke and alcohol breaths,

  the eyes that stare at us from every angle,

  the scornful gaze of hungry men,

  the faces that says get out, you don’t belong here