The energy was superficial.
Surrounded by tourists shockingly whiter than myself, clutching bug spray and cameras with fanny packs tied round their waists.
Two small thoroughly tattooed Thai men stepped into the worn square rink and we sized them up as an audience.
Betting on our first impressions.
Judging them by the looks in their eyes.
A spark of fear could cost you 5,000 baht.
They circled one another, mimicking cock fighting.
Bursting out their chests and delicately lacing their feet one over the other.
Then following tradition, hugged each another.
Drawing back in a rapid neck cracking flick, they began to fight.
Wearing only tight shorts and overstuffed punching gloves, they thrust themselves together.
Inspecting weaknesses and combing for glitches.
Whipping their legs about and knocking them against one another to block the opposing attacks.
The crowd devoured the appetizer of Spinning Backfists and dined on each Uppercut.
Sipping delightfully from the sweat of anticipation.
The feast of Muay Thai.