kulturbrille:amanuensis

There are no fresh roses to be bought at 3am anywhere in Singapore.

At least, not at Holland Village, Mustafa, Tekka Market, KK hospital, Tan Tock Seng, and all the wet markets, 7-11s, Cheers and petrol stations in between.

At the temporary Whampoa market, I run right over a concrete road divider, smashing my right side-skirt.

Shaken, I decided to return, before I killed someone or myself, but not before checking that the florists along Thomson Road did not throw out yesterday’s flowers with the trash. I also discovered that at wet markets, florists leave orchids, carnations and other familar, nameless flowers outside at night. But they are not what I promised.

Chinatown, perhaps. Oh, or Waterloo. Sigh.