The dance of the light sabres on the canal water did little to convince Noa that they were mere reflections of neon lights. The neon signs were the signature since time immemorial. Their colour even lent itself in naming the place. As she sat dangling her legs over the canal with a Heineken on her hand, she scanned the masses that were thronging into the lanes lining the canal. Young, old, white, black, brown, males, females, couples, singles, all with impertinent expressions laced in lust. Noa let out a sigh, an ode to how human nature never ceased to amaze her. In one of the windows near her:  “Hey, how much are you down for pretty thing?” The middle aged Korean smiled as he moved his lips and waved his hands to get his message of interest across the glass door. The brunette in her leopard skin lingerie, hugging…