Falling In Love, Thanks To An 80s Asian Hair Band
Love, New Year’s, and a Singapore hair band.
The cab glided to a stop. I instantly felt underdressed.
Stepping out into the Singaporean night, the British colonial style of the Raffles Hotel scolded me like an angry parent. I couldn’t blame it. The building had housed the Queen of England and the King of Pop. My back-alley Versace jeans and Bangkok-hawker Polo, which I now believed to be a woman’s cut, felt dreadfully out of place.
The white-gloved bellhop nodded to me all the same as he closed the cab door behind me. He’d already helped my girlfriend out the other side.
White polished stones crunched under our feet as we approached; the sounds of popping flashbulbs and cheers from fans and photogs of a time not so long ago.
The bellhop handed us off to another white-gloved man in uniform. An army of tailored white uniforms not to be outdone by the shimmering facade of the building. Our greater returned to the circle drive for the next car.
