Tuesday morning. At the coffee stand, which is open again.

I am sitting here processing the events of yesterday and last night.

Yesterday I sat on the rooftop with my neighbor, who is from Chicago. Nothing interesting of note took place. We were just talking. He only said, “Everyone at that bar is lying to your face. You’re the only one who doesn’t know it.”

I had no idea what he was even talking about. We decided to meet at the American Bar later regardless and parted ways. Shortly after, I went out to run an errand. When I returned, the concierge approached me directly and pointed at his watch.

“You come back too early,” he said.

“What?”

“You come back too early,” he repeated, pointing at his watch again. “You go out. Come back late.”

I was so confused. This has never happened before. They never approach me directly that way.

I went upstairs to my apartment to eat dinner anyway. When I tried to watch TV, the TV did not work. Unable to succumb to my bed rot, I decided to go out to the bar and see what the vibe was.

As I was leaving, I saw the two men at the concierge looking at me and laughing like they knew something I didn’t. It was so strange. I had the weirdest feeling about it.

When I walked into the bar, the vibe was… very, very different than before. Prior to the events with Irish Guy/Hot Beef Stew, the general vibe was that no one really cared if I was there. Last Friday, the vibe was very off. People in there were looking at me a certain way. There was a general feeling of unease and uncertainty. Somehow managed to get black out drunk on Fireball shots anyway because it was my birthday.

Last night the vibe was like… Awe, maybe? Like they were in Awe. That’s when I realized… all of them knew about what happened with the Hot Beef Stew. All of them knew exactly who it was. The only person who doesn’t know anything about what’s actually going on here is me.

It was in this moment I realized I was batting a little bit out of my league. I really don’t have any idea what I’m doing over here. I could just tell by the general vibe that I had stepped in something big, and that it was coming around to give me the head ache I predicted it would.

I proceeded to act as if everything was totally normal. Meanwhile, the entire time, I was screaming on my head, “JUST TELL ME WHO HE IS, GODDAMMIT!” The lack of information is driving me crazy. I knew he was going to give me a headache the moment I first saw him.

As it is, sometimes one must sit and wait for the information to come to them. I knew it would come to me if I sat there and waited long enough. I was correct. Some hours later, the gentleman from the IRA came and sat down next to me. The smile he had on his face was really something.

“Did you get the recipe I sent you for the hot beef stew?” he asked.

Is this a movie? Are we speaking in code? What is even happening to me in this bar right now? What even is this James Bond-ass shit?

“I did indeed receive the recipe. Thank you. I appreciate it very much.”

“I read your stories,” he said. “I saw everything on your blog about the bar and the Loch Ness Monster and your Hot Beef Stew and being a little gangster.”

He laughed to himself he said the word gangster; like he was addressing a very naive child who didn’t know anything about the world.

“I’m glad you enjoyed the show.”

“I did. It was very entertaining watching and listening to your videos on Instagram this weekend. You know I even got the CCTV footage of you in that Irish bar the other day?”

“Oh? You have CCTV footage of me?”

“Actually, I’ve got everything on you,” he said calmly, taking out his phone.

He pulled up an AI summary of my identity on Google. It included a completely made-up factoid claiming I run a blog called “All Over The Place.” This blog actually has no name, but thanks for that. The description says I wrote about my journey in life and my fears about fitting in with others and something else.

“Is that all?”

“Did you know you just go on the internet and search someone’s name and buy a data package that includes their entire digital footprint? We have everything Your Reddit account, your old twitter accounts, all of your accounts. Everything. Everything you’ve ever put online.”

“You know, I did watch a special feature about this very thing on Al Jazeera about three months ago. Funny. I didn’t think it would happen to me. Anyway, I have nothing to hide. That’s why I write my blog the way I do. Everything is out there for the whole world to see! And anyway, why would anyone want to read my old Twitter accounts? It’s just like me whining in reverse. Though I’m sure there’s some good stories in South Dakota buried in there. I never go through those archives.”

“But this information is correct, yes?”

“Yes, of course. What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing. I just want you to know that you’re being watched.”

“So here’s my question: if you have the CCTV footage of me in the Irish pub, then you must have the CCTV footage from the hotel elevator.”

Reader, I shit you not, he pulled out a key card with the hotel name on it like we were in a goddamn movie. I guess that explains why the concierge was laughing at me.

“Ah,” I said calmly. “You then you know my story is true.”

“Why do you think I’m here?”

I sat in my seat in silence, shifting somewhat uncomfortably. At this moment I realized everyone in the bar was staring at me. What on earth did I step into this time?

“You can ask me whatever you want,” he said. “But you’re not going to like the answer.”

“I already have the only answer I’m interested in. What makes you think I want to know more?”

“You do want to know more. But I’m telling you right now, you’re not going to like the answer. What do they say in that movie? You can’t handle the truth.”

“What, the truth that I kissed some married guy who directly misled me about his relationship status? Yeah, like that’s never happened to me in my entire life before. Big whoop.”

“Why don’t you join me outside for a smoke?” he said, getting up from his seat. He walked out the front door and looked back at me as he closed the door.

As I stood up, the bartender Linda looked right at me and said, “I am CCTV, kaaaa?”

I smiled at her and laughed. This woman is so ready to sell us farangs down the river at any given moment in time. I am so here for it, even if I am the one currently being sold out.

I walked outside to ask the only question that had been on my mind the entire day. I lit my cigarette and looked him straight in the eyes.

“Just tell me who he is,” I said.

“He doesn’t really exist. That’s not his real name. He’s not who you think he is. The man you’re looking for isn’t here.”

Is he a goddamn leprechaun? What in the goddamn McFuck is this goddamn McRiddle shit? I was promised a pot of gold at the end of this rainbow, and it turns out it’s all a bunch of bullshit.

This is why my ancestors got on a boat and left.

“So he’s just some rich married guy who stepped out on his wife?”

He laughed at me.

“Is that something he normally does?”

“No.”

“I see.”

“I mean, I don’t know. A man’s business is his business.”

“So it would seem.”

He started babbling about that black card bullshit. I was like, bro, I don’t give a fuck about your little crypto mining scam or whatever it is. You don’t need to mansplain black cards to me. I’m from Washington, D.C.

He continued babbling and speaking in riddles as I stood there staring at him, completely unimpressed. He started going on about the IRA again. I don’t give a fuck about the IRA, bro. Is that even still a real thing?

Like, what are you even talking about right now? Just tell me who the fuck this international man of mystery is!

He finally gave me a name, but I have zero reason to believe it’s real. I don’t even know what any of this is right now. I feel like I’m in a movie but I don’t know what movie I’m actually in.

They’re treating me like I’m interested in uncovering some shady shit, when in reality the only thing I’m interested in is the muscles on this sexy beefcake I unexpectedly picked up at the bar. It’s not that deep, bro. I was literally just horny and he was hot!

Okay, well, do I get to see this guy again, or not? That’s the only thing I care about. The question is simple: do I get to kiss him again? Yes or no?

Interesting that he’s sent his minions along already to do his dirty work, whatever that might be. Or perhaps this individual is acting on his own? He doesn’t strike me as that type. He strikes me as someone who answers directly to someone more important above.

Then again, I am at a bar full of riff raff and he could just be causing trouble for the sake of causing trouble. You know how these mischievous little sprites love to flit about the forest, causing interference in the lives of ordinary mortals like me.

He just wants to see himself as a character in the story. Well, here it is. Here you are! Don’t you just love your little going away present?

I sat back down at the table with Old Man Wiley. He took one look at me and shook his head. “I told you, Betsey, but you just won’t listen. You don’t know what you’re messing with here. You don’t know who these people are. The people who come to Bangkok… they’re not always good. Please be careful. Please.”

In the end I was left with a feeling of great unease. I walked back home and stared at the concierge as they looked at me and laughed to each other again.

I woke up and felt a strong sense like something had been left unresolved, but I was not sure what. I only knew that I had invited something in that I did not understand, and that whoever this man was that had been here was not quite finished with whatever his intended business was with me.

When I came to the coffee stand this morning, the housekeeper from The Peak was here. She called me over to her table and gave me a big hug. She had the biggest smile on her face.

“I missed you these last few days,” she said.

“Me too.”

“What is that smile on your face? Tell me. Did you meet a man?”

“I did, yes.”

“Not another Englishman, I hope?”

“No, this one is Irish.”

“Ohhhh,” she said with a knowing smile. “That’s much better.”

Is it really, though?

I remain… unconvinced.