NIBBLES THAT DELIGHT THE MIND
Now the thing is that I had been having hot beverages and a smoke since early morning. Had a long luxurious bath, went out to buy footpowder and a dozen rolls of bumwad (yay! we can poo again!), and had another smoke, more hot beverage.
Finished the book I was reading, and decided that the company of other sentient beings of the bipedal variety might be a jolly good thing.
I am not a freak. I feel that I should mention that.
Reading is a perfectly natural thing to do.
It alleviates hunger marvelously.
Didn't even notice.
At Wing Hing a little bespectacled girl was intently observing the old white woman who was arguing with herself. Normally little girls look at all the good things to eat -- it's a view both precious and intriguing to even the most intelligent tyke -- but it isn't every day that one can examine an entirely out-of-it antique ghost devil, so one must enjoy the sight while one can. Two other little girls came in, and soon also became fascinated.
The old lady didn't notice them at all.
She was deep in conversation.
Adult Chinese folks know to not ever look directly at crazy whitey, because crazy whitey looks back. And reacts badly to eye-contact. Just pretend you don't notice the peculiar gibbering, dear, and select a pastry.
This is San Francisco. Many of "them" are unhinged.
It's a very white thing, apparently.
Free range eccentricity.
One of the little girls also looked at me. I never know what to do when that happens. Should I flap my coat and endeavor to lift off? Do I pretend that my hand is a dog, and about to pee against my teacup?
My pinky extends out, like a tiny hind leg ...
I try not to look back. One should avoid eye-contact with tiny persons.
One never knows what they will do next. Or how they will react.
A child once accused me of staring at her bag of jujubes.
I hadn't, and I felt quite unjustly maligned.
I usually avoid candy.
The little girls all left eventually, and the old white woman drifted off too. When the German tourists got up, I was the only customer in the place. The waitress remarked that my Cantonese was excellent, and asked if I could also write. Yes I can, because if I couldn't write, how could I read all the words on the pastry display?
I am not a freak.
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