I think: in Bangkok? But I lead her through a couple of corridors then out into the public area where brown men and women not much more than half her size wait to tell a cop of their homely grievances. It’s not exactly a festive atmosphere, but it’s human. An American extravert, Kimberley doesn’t mind dabbing her red eyes with a tissue in front of an audience, who naturally assume I’ve just busted this female farang on some minor drugs charge - cannabis, perhaps. Like my own her eyes naturally seek out any attractive young women sitting in the plastic seats. There are three, all of them prostitutes (no respectable Thai woman dresses like that). They resent the attention and glare back. I think Kimberley would like to hug them in gratitude that they’re still alive. I take her out into the street: not quite what the words “fresh air” normally evoke, but she fills her lungs anyway. “My god, Sonchai. The world. What monsters are we creating?”

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