In the streets, the harsh reek of exhaust fumes was tinged with a million subtler perfumes: jasmine, raw sewage, grasshoppers frying in peppered oil, the odor of ripe durian fruit that was like rotting flesh steeped in thick sweet cream. The very air seemed spritzed with alcohol, soaked with neon and the juices of s*x.
He found his calling on Patpong 3, a block-long strip of gay bars and nightclubs in Bangkok’s famous sleaze district. In the village, Suko and his seven brothers and sisters had gutted fish for a few baht a day. Here he was paid thirty times as much to drink and dance with farangs who told him fascinating stories, to make his face prettier with makeup, to be fondled and flattered, to have his c**k sucked as often as he could stand it. If he had to suck a few in return, how
