“Fire spinning?” he asked.

“Copy, 5-6,” Somchai replied. He tapped his partner, Officer Arun, who was drooling on his shoulder. “Wake up. The clowns are juggling fire again.”

He did not raise it. He just held it.

He reached out and ended the stream.

Somchai killed the engine. The sudden silence was louder than the noise.

Somchai sighed. Globe Twatters . The name was a deliberate misspelling—a “quirky” backpacker bar run by a digital nomad from Sheffield. The “Twatters” were the tourists who sat on the plastic stools out front, live-streaming themselves drinking buckets of cheap whiskey.

“The party,” Somchai said, “is over.”