late in the afternoon, having collected my visa interview letter from the travel agent, and finding myself in the uluness between selegie and middle road (which is called that because it's in the middle of nowhere) i stopped an unfamiliar bus which, i was under the impression, takes me to dhoby ghaut. it stopped at park mall, sure enough, but i decided to stay on the bus and go into orchard to see if i can get a hat full of sky out of sunny, and the bus straightaway turned off on clemenceau instead. it made less sense to get off the bus at the next stop and walk back to dhoby ghaut - it was no end of hot - than to wait till the bus got to clarke quay station, because it must, mustn't it? up came the river - robertson quay on my right, clarke quay on my left, and the next thing i knew the bus had swung onto havelock road, and was leaving the river further and further behind. get off the bus and cross the road? that was one way, but i hate retracing my way, so i stayed on the bus. it was headed west, so it was bound to pass an mrt station in the west, or intersect with another route that would take me home or partway home, or else it would get to an interchange, probably in tiong bahru or bukit ho swee, and then i might find a place for coffee and cake. . so i was almost sorry when we arrived at redhill station and there was nothing of interest all around. outram was close enough, but i had just missed the eastbound train, so obviously the thing to do is to go west. i could do with a second trip to jurong library, but queenstown is only a stop away. su-lin does praise queenstown library, and my ignacio padilla had come from there, and if fate has delivered me to redhill on an afternoon like this i might as well. one walks to queenstown library through seedy neighbourhoods of food centres and fishermen churches and dental clinics and dilapidated cinemas and i am not in the least pleased by the collection once i got a good look. nice library - all the reconstructed libraries are - but you know, like they say, gold and jade are its exteriors, decaying cotton within. books rummaged and unalphabetical, though the yp section was neat with tightly-packed volumes. i shall not be persuaded to go again.

current books out:

halldor laxness: the fish can sing
helga ruebsamen: the song and the truth
thomas bernhard: the loser
richard flanagan: gould's book of fish
gabriel garcia marquez: love in the time of cholera
sandor marai: embers