SPEAK TO ME WITH THINE EYES

The woman from Hoi Ping showed up at the bus stop with her twelve year old daughter. Whose appearance in all ways demonstrates how pretty her mom must have been when she was barely an adult. She's still an attractive woman. Pretty, in an intelligent kind of way.
Which is always the best kind.

And, unlike many teenagers, the girl seemed well-tempered.
Must be that excellent parentage.


I am, in all ways, most unsuitable company for a Hoipingese girl and her innocent little mom. Being, myself, a rancid Dutch American Gentleman. Middle aged. Daemonic. Reeking of tobacco. Given to hot sauce, and occasionally indulgent in a nip of whisky.
Cynical, and dry.

As I was that evening. I was heading into Chinatown for a spot to eat, after which I wandered over to the cigar bar for quiet introspection with a pipe filled with flake, plus a shot of Scotch.

The daughter seems quite sweet, still an unknowable subject at that age. But the mom has plenty of character, and a very likable personality.

I am a decade and a half older. And a sinful man.


Still, I know how to behave. Life is so much smoother and more enjoyable if at all times one can be gallant and considerate.
For all parties.
Both women should go to college . Maximize the potential which I notice is there. Adult education for one -- English better than my rotten Cantonese is a jolly good idea -- and Junior college very soon for the other.
She can probably handle the material.
Already.


While waiting for the bus, all three of us observed the loony nearby, who discoursed to an invisible person about her husband and her teacher.
And went over several numerical sequences, obsessively.
Some people ain't prepared for prime time.
Despite their mathematics.


I cannot remember what they were wearing. But their eyes were more than enough fancy.


This middle-aged goobus is a sucker for intelligent expressive eyes.


Provided there is an active mind behind.


At least.




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