Once, flushed with teaching money, I hopped over to Phuket for a couple days. One night, I found myself in the company of an honest to god Russian cosmonaut and his paramour. How do I know he was a cosmonaut? He had an id noting his occupation. True, we were in Thailand where counterfeit papers are an art form but still. The fact that this man would choose Russian cosmonaut as his cover was interesting in and of itself. Regardless, I like to think he was the real deal. We closed the bar down and proceeded to hang out at a local’s place. I wish I had jotted down bits of the conversation but all that survives from that night is this:

Apparently, there was some language exchange going on. As the sun came up, his girl gave me a ride on her motorbike back to my hotel. As she dropped me off, the security guard gave me a thumbs up. For the next week, I couldn’t get Cracker’s Low out of my head.