Lovely rigormortis.

Indonesia is that rarest of treats - a country so ripe with culture and a storied past that one can easily pluck any number of its lovely fruits, and, biting gently into its soft flesh, send rivulets of sweet nectar down one's chin...a miniature, luscious cascade that ultimately collects in a damp, sticky mess on the front of your shirt.

One day in the near future I will find myself delicately climbing out of my own private submersible, placing my soft black beret over my heart, and placing my pasty white American feet, tender with disuse, onto the moist green soil of Mother Indonesia. I do this for love...love and adventure.

In an attempt to endear me to the nuances of Indonesian culture, lovely Miss M., the woman who I follow to the byways of Indonesia directed me to a website overflowing with pictures of the marvelous seascapes, lush forests, and busy cities of proud Indonesia.

What she did not foresee was the existence of this particular photo, which I showcase below.



That is the facade of a police station in Bintan, on the island of Riau.

In case you missed that, allow me to provide a closer shot of a certain detail in front of that police station.



Indeed.

I will never leave Indonesia alive.