He and Porn had an American style apartment. She was content with it for a few days and then became discontent with the furniture. The chairs and the sofas, despite their padding, were still wicker and stiff. He knew that having the landlord take away the furnishings and using his credit cards fully for the purchase of her wishes would not ameliorate the discontent that all beings had and few could rein in. He had met her and her mommy on the bleachers of the stadium on Ramkhamhaeng Road while sketching out a field and trees and yet still Nawin felt that she did not know who he was. He went to classes in the morning and from late afternoon he was busy painting. He couldn't understand how she thought that he should just conjure up images instantaneously with his brush, spend money, and take her places. He kept avoiding the issue of taking her across the border. She had a student visa since she was technically enrolled in a language school (although she rarely attended) so it wasn't in fear of her visa status that made him want to avoid the issue of the border. He had his American passport and yet he still had never spent a day there. He told himself that he should. And yet it continued to seem to him like such a dreadful place. He told himself that it had been a mistake to bring her here. He hadn't known how far the campus was from the city. In part he chose the location with Noppawan and Porn in mind. Still, it was a mistake and he knew it all along. In Thailand she had seemed so excitable. She was a gadabout and she always made friends out of strangers from adjacent tables in restaurants they frequented. She had seemed so open to the world. Now she seemed like such a Victorian whore, jumping around in motion but prudishly obdurate to change within. She was conventional-this Victorian whore of his. Like virtually everyone else, she was part of the big band and the universe of movement fully cognizant that the most popular and sexy people were the ones who could twist and turn with universal movement. He was the oddity. This Nawin, the romancer of whores, was all for show. Deep inside was not impetuousness but paralysis. This artistic brooding was not part of the natural course of events and who was he to chastise her normalcy. He just smiled and evaded her wishes.