The Seven-Day Regular

By his fourth night, Kevin had a usual seat.

By his fifth, he had a usual girl.

By his seventh, he believed he had discovered a side of Patong tourists never see.

The bar staff knew his beer, his hotel and the exact moment he would offer tequila. They greeted him by name before he crossed the street.

Kevin interpreted this as belonging.

He began advising newcomers.

Never pay the first price. Don’t ring the bell. Avoid the main road. Always take care of the staff and they take care of you.

Most of this knowledge had been acquired since Monday.

On his final night, Kevin announced that he was “basically local now.”

The Mama-san nodded with the patience of a woman who had watched thousands of locals depart through Phuket Airport.

He bought farewell drinks. He gave his usual girl, Som, a silver bracelet and promised to return in three months.

At closing time, the staff hugged him. Somebody took photographs. Kevin fought tears.

The next evening, a new man sat in his usual seat.

He ordered the same beer.

Som asked his name, where he was staying and how long he had been in Phuket.

The sequence was not fake.

It was simply well-practised.

Three months later, Kevin returned without warning.

The staff cheered genuinely.

His old seat was occupied.

Som moved the new man one stool to the left.

“Your place,” she told Kevin.

He sat down, pleased that nothing had changed.

Almost nothing had.