And eat it, too

After all the time spent wishing I could escape notice, I went walking through one of Bangkok's seedy hives of go go clubs. I went around each level of a three-tier amphitheater lined with curtained-off clubs and nigh-naked women hanging off (generally) drunken men who were hanging onto the balcony rail (who thought this one up? A third-floor dance club with a waist high bannister to catch whomever comes stumbling out?), with occasional clouds of perfume and cigarette smoke around covens of girls waiting for some prey to come by.

Three levels of this, with probably fifteen clubs per level, and at least two clumps--oops, did I say coven last time?--of women per club, and me walking from one end to the other.

Sounds like my typical story, right? For some reason I had to cut through, and barely made it out intact?

Well, here I went. Right into the thick of debauchery row.

And I did not get touched once. No, "Hey sexy," nobody grabbing my arm, no beseeching hellos, nothing.

All the way up.

All the way down.

At least invite the skinny SOB in for a drink, right?

Nothing.

I'll take the initiative to say it's a pin on the chest: the question is whether it's for accomplishment or discharge.