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Duang finishes his dinner early these days. He waits a while then as soon as he can, excuses himself from his elderly parents and climbs up to his room on the second storey of their wooden house.

It’s his usual time to check on his harem.

It’s cool at this time of the evening, really the best time to be up here.

The sun is setting behind the shiny leaves of the mango trees. A squirrel is munching a hole in the half-ripped dark-green fruits dangling on long thin stalks, its last meal for the day.

The top of the large wooden table Duang uses for his computer desk is tidy. His old laptop sits on it with its lid folded shut. It is both his place of work and entertainment, his cosy little private world.

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