A job.

On the banks of the Singapore River, a small bamboo-and-stone structure stands out as being one of the newest, and best cared for buildings in the area; a temple for a religion the Western world only hears of in stories from disreputable sailors. Inside, the acolytes sleep soundly on minimalist pallets, biding the time before midnight rituals.

The stillness within is a strange departure from the all-night activity in the town without, and stands apart as a silent haven. The silence is broken only by the movement of unwelcome boots sneaking across bamboo floors designed for bare feet only.