annonymous

I am sitting at the least populated bar in Sanur, musicked by two guitarists, adverstised as from Sumatra. One of the baretenders is playing a small jimbay and there's a red faced expat woman, older, with a large ceamic flower by her ear. Even as I write this, we're all singing "Mrs. Robinson" but I can't bring myself to look up and engage. It's either down at this pad or over to my book. I have no excuse to be here except that they are playing guitar and I miss his. And I'm hoping for information on Sumatra (go to the city Beda and to the Lake Toba... or something like that).

I'm afraid of looking like a desperate white girl, here for attention, but if I forget that stereotype, it feels like a quiet corner of Austin, where I am annonymous and there's something unknown in the air, even if I'm feeling shy...