Morning of my last day

My last morning in Bangkok and I'm awake at dawn as the warm, bright light penetrates the grubby window of my curtainless room. I prop myself up on one elbow and gaze sleepily out across the shabby tin rooftops.
A black cat, a well-endowed Tom with a wide, flat head picks his way across the roof. His gait is stiff, perhaps from age or a night of brawling, judging from the dull-coloured patches of fur missing from his coat.
I yawn and head towards the shower. My hair has unwound from its loose plait, conducted guerrilla warfare and formed brittle, blonde dreadlocks overnight. Time to indulge in my one luxury, some decent conditioner, and subdue this raging mane for at least the rest of the day.
Freshly showered, time to hit the streets for a new bottle of water from the 7/11, at 13 baht for a litre it's half the price of the cafes, then to save myself from impending scurvy by scoffing a big bowl of freshly chopped fruit salad. Mango, banana, pineapple, brightly-coloured but disappointingly bland dragon fruit.
It's still early and the most of the Farang continue to slumber off the revelries of the night before. I encountered a red-eyed, dry-retching male specimen on my way to the showers. However the Thai are wide awake and preparing for a new day, blue smoke hangs in the air over the street food stalls, delicious smells of freshly chopped sweet basil and sizzling meats waft through down the alleyway.
The old Bitch dog I saw the night before is awake, making her way stiffly down the steps, to be greeted by an eager male. I feel sorry for her, one black and white ear permanently folded over, sagging teats hang off her pot belly, her vulva grossly swollen, and undetectable to humans, obviously giving off the dizzying, delicious scent of being on heat. Male dogs, all sniff and tail wag, trailing her up and down the street, oblivious to her snarls until at last she gives in and allows them to mount her. In a few months she'll deliver yet another litter of puppies who will incessantly demand all the sustenance her old body can give and the cycle will continue. It's a shame someone couldn't have locked her away for a couple of days until she no longer was so desirable.
Breakfast finished, I sit in the undercover patio of the hotel which has been home for the past few nights, $10 a night for a small concrete box with a fan, although it still gets so unbearably hot and stuff that the only way to get to sleep is to drape a wet face cloth across your bare skin and have a water bottle handy to keep it damp throughout the night. I opened the window late last night and greedily gulped in the cool, midnight air... toyed with leaving it open throughout the night but fears of creepy crawly things with too many legs scuttling inside to share my sleeping quarters compelled me to close it again.
Soaking up the free WiFi and doing last minute research before entering the Great Firewall of Burma. Last time I was there it could easily take five minutes for a webpage to load in one of Rangoon's few internet cafes so I transfer my contacts onto hard copy and poke around travel blogs for tips on cheap hotels.
When I flew into Rangoon in January, hotels were packed and hordes of eager backpackers quizzed one another in the departure lounge, do you have accommodation, where will you stay, I tried to call so many places but couldn't get through. I met up with some lovely Canadians and ended up bunking five in a room on my first night, later on transferring to a shipping container on the roof of a huge marble tower called the White House. If I don't have the same luck this time I can always put my sleeping bag to good use... and have the rats come and nibble my ears and keep me warm during the night.
A distant rumble swiftly becomes a roar, as without warning, the sky decides to open up and dump cooling rain upon the city. All other noise becomes a muffled blur underneath the rage of the rain and laughing locals quickly scatter for shelter. Almost instantly, the cracked piping coughs and splutters jets of soapy water into the rapidly filling gutters, washing away streams of dirty brown water, bottle lids, leaves, debris.
The old black and white bitch creeps in under a chair and settles down for a nap.
Then, just as suddenly as it started, the rain stops, the moisture disappears into the cracks and crevices and the silent void left behind swiftly fills up with the chatter and noise of another morning in Bangkok.