Sometimes on does not wish to mingle. And civilized is purely a matter of definition.
In some regards I am still the rebellious teenager I was when younger.
I owe it all to caffeine.
The day always starts with two cups of coffee in lieu of an actual breakfast, followed by a calm smoke. Unlike what women do, this is followed by a shave and a shower.
My apartment mate does none of that. Cantonese American women are sometimes very strange. She is presently eating ice cream and watching trash teevee. Her comfort zone includes televised white people acting tacky and loud, the entitled brutes.
I find it far too early for badly behaved Wasps.
Given my work, I see enough of that already.
And I actually find it a dreary spectacle.
Many Cantonese people find whitey fascinating, in a clinical sort of way. We act with such abandon that they cannot help goggle-eyeing at our antics.
It is too early in the day for me to antic. But canned white people on cable are twenty four seven.
Ice cream, chocolate chip, good lord.
Not lactose intolerant, that one.
How can she be so awake?
Dawn in SF is cold and grim.
Normally people notice that.
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