White sand beach, blue sky, palm trees, thick novel, suntan lotion, me. That about covers it, the real-life version of the glossy travel brochure. The only thing missing was the big, happy-go-lucky Hollywood grin on the lounging sun bather. It wasn't there, it was more of a scowl.
The low rumble of the engine dissolved the tension that held me upright and my body slowly slumped into a state of relaxation bordering boneless. I sighed. Something flew out the window and I instinctively reached to grab it before it got out, but it was too late. Stress. Then something else. Worry. Then anxiety. I didn’t grab anymore.
So when I saw a sign inside a shopping mall somewhere off the beaten path in Malaysia that said 'Kenny Rogers' Roasters,' I was more than a little curious; I had never heard of such a place. Was it a country music store? A feathered-hair salon? A cowboy apparel store? Kenny Rogers was as out of place in South East Asia as apple pie. Whatever it was, it was going to be very, very interesting. I opened the door.
