She could not be described as a beauty. But she had character, and a runny nose. And she was enjoying a pastry and some Hong Kong style milk-tea. That last part, of course, really spoke to me. I myself am an aficionado of that beverage, and I like the way they make it there.
Strong, bitter but for the sweetness of the evaporated milk.
I was glad she was there, because it gave me someone to observe. Her face was broader than long, and her hair was slightly mussy. No, I have no clue whatsoever what her age was. Older than early twenties would be my guess, but not yet old enough to have fully grown kids. Though toward the younger end of the age-span between those two extremes.
Possibly a mother of grammar school children.
We started our tea at the same time, and finished at the same time. Our paths and actions diverged enormously after that; it is more than highly unlikely that she lit up a nice bowlful of a Virginia mixture and enjoyed a pipe while ambling down past the old Chinatown Telephone Exchange (now a filial of East West Bank, 華美銀行), before at last ending up waiting for a bus to take her back over the hill.
But really, she should have. It would probably have been to her taste.
And she would have looked good with a pipe. I think an elegant semi-bent black sandblast might be just her style.
Women who smoke should demonstrate that it was a deliberate choice, not an addiction that crept up on them, and entirely free of peer pressure or social drinking with bad companions.
A pipe does that admirably.
Especially at tea-time.
After work, at rest.
Unwinding.
I of course smoke a pipe because I've been doing so for years, and it helps me think. I am not any wiser because of it, but arguably still far saner than perhaps I would have been.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
No comments:
Post a Comment