No-one clipped my wings, but it seems I forgot how to fly for a while. But now I’m taking to the sky, setting my bearings due north-west. I’m drawing a line that cuts a continent in two.
I’m on my way to Singapore. A name that reads like a sentence - a ditty dedicated to the little holes in your skin. In truth its name means ‘lion city’ - although lions have never lived there.
I know an old man who lives in Singapore but he is not the host who will great me when I land. Instead a band of shadowy ladies are waiting with open arms. They promise ‘ghosts, vampires and other phantoms’ - I think I’m going to enjoy my stay.