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On the way back to KL (I’m here, wee!), I took a bus to Jurong East, intending to take a train to Kranji, and then a bus to Larkin. Yeah, sounds horrible. So it was out of impulse I joined the queue for the Malaysian bus service CW-3. Five minutes later, the bus rolls by, and the drivers takes my S$3.50 — the most I ever paid to get into Malaysia.

But anyhow, if it saves me a train trip, what the heck: I’m splurging. On the bus, I thought it was rather strange the bus was on AYE heading towards Tuas… crap, its taking the Second Link. Soon, I was given the grand tour of West JB. And then North JB. And then I thought I heard the conductor shout “Masai”, and I was, “Shit, East JB?”

I was given an unwelcomed tour of Southern Johor. Though I entertained myself with a magazine, which is mistake #2. I got around to reading the Arena and now know why nobody buys it. I mean, if you want to learn how to be stylish, Arena is a great help. If you’re earning S$15,000 and travel to London regularly. But by then, who cares about looks? I mean, Don Trump looks like a turd, but he’s rich. Rich people can afford to look like turds.

Oh, and the 10pt font size on strikingly unreadable backgrounds push it out of the 30-above age range (you know, people who might earn S$15,000/month and go to London quite often). Gah, S$7.90.

So I finally put down the magazine when I was blinded by the world’s brightest traffic light (southern Johoreans may know where this is: Jln Temenggung 11) and then thrown into seizures by a neon display by a Megatari electronic store along Jln Tun Aminah… wherever the hell that was.

2 hours to JB — that was longer than that time I thought it was a bright idea to go to JB during Friday rush hour when the Singapore inter-causeway bus system seemed disintegrate. Arena — it was less interesting than that Spanish magazine my mom brought back from Madrid, and I can’t read Spanish.

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