Casual Horror Captured

[Battambang, 1/18/26]

In Phnom Penh before sunrise, a flamboyant cross dresser, no older than 30, walked into a café filled mostly with middle aged men. Mute, he could only make weird sounds but, with his frilly bonnet, pink rabbit ears and caked with clownish makeup, he was obviously joyous, what a weird, possibly fake word, to be among friends. Such normalcy calmed me. A black coffee there cost just 75 cents. The lady was chubby and Chinese.

Done with an article, I emailed my friend, Mark, but he’s still out of town. Today’s my last in Battambang. Tomorrow, I’ll go somewhere. If you hear a knock on your door, it may just be me and not ICE. At 9:28AM, I’m sitting in that shabby pool hall, so sweet and comforting. No one is shooting yet. A young, very pretty girl had to unlock the smallish cooler when she saw me yanking on it. “Enjoy Yous Cold Drink,” it says in English at the top. Filled with anticipation and gratitude, I snatched a 330 ml can of Hanuman Black. “GREATNESS IN EVERY MOMENT,” it promises. Cost just 75 cents. The beauty queen had to run across the street to get my change. Nervously, I waited. Of course, I’m just kidding. Must cut that shit out!

Now, three men have arrived to shoot and chatter. With his head barely above the table, a boy watches. It won’t be years until he can aim for those holes. Let’s hope he makes it. All we really need is to be left alone. Understanding nothing, I’m so happy. Now, one kid, no older than four, has climbed onto a table. Knowing no one will believe me, I took a photo, as if that proves anything. Nothing proves anything is right.