“I’m sorry Ma’am but I don’t have you on this flight tonight. Do you know your ticket number?”

As it turns out, I am not on this flight to Kuala Lumpu to Kathmandu. I am on the flight tomorrow night. This is what happens when you buy your plane ticket at 5am, with two hours of sleep in you, having just spent the night being a sympathetic friend about his problems with another woman - having made love to you just hours prior - but that is a different story. It looks like I will be spending a night and a day in Bangkok.

Anti-government protest has been going on in Thailand since November of last year. On May 20th, the military declared martial law and imposed curfews two days later. Curfew on the debauchery capital of Asia.

I hop the Skytrain into the city then a cab through the notorious Bangkok traffic for the hotel. Everything feels the same. People are meandering in the streets; Singha is being sold in steady supply. There is no panic or concern in the psychosphere, Bangkok is not holding her breath, life is happening.

Western girls in tiny tank tops and shorts too short; guys in t-shirts with beer logos and a sense of entitlement. Perhaps the military coup is merely an inconvenience to the party and the good times. After all, top 40 is still being played in the hotel lobby and the internet is steady and fast, they would never know the true cost of democracy.