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About Singapore

So, sex-dating—man, it’s a riot! You got folks posin’ with fish pics—why, bro?—or chicks with ten filters, lookin’ like goddesses ‘til you meet ‘em and—bam—surprise! Catfish city. I’m sittin’ here, sippin’ mead, laughin’ my ass off at the desperation. Like, one time I heard this story—true shit—dude matched with a gal on Hinge, drove two hours for a “date,” and she ghosted him at the bar. Left him with a $20 tab and blue balls. Savage! Made me angry for him, but also—ha!—what a dumbass. Lesson one: don’t trust a profile sayin’ “adventurous soul.” Means they’re flaky as hell.

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But then, the rain stops, and I step outside, and it’s like a sauna. I’m drenched in sweat again. I’m like, “Why, Woodlands, why?” I decide to head back home, but the bus is taking forever. I’m standing at the bus stop on Woodlands Ave 2, and I’m just losing it. I mean, how hard is it to get a bus?

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