DREAMING IMPOSSIBLE DREAMS

The most enjoyable thing upon returning home from the karaoke orgy every week is looking up the figures for confirmed cases in the US, and the deaths. It's an element of stability. And of course please note that on the bus to and from karaoke excess one can really tell who the San Franciscans are versus tourists and idiots: locals wear masks, yuppies, mental defectives, and visitors, do not.

Or at least that's the way it seems. Many of our twenty somethings are blithely overconfident in their ability to dodge bullets. Not surprisingly I am apathetic about the long term health prospects of such people. And at ease with the likelihood of Christians, Republicans, and troglodytes in the red states croaking at an increased rate over the next decade.
.
As well as large Caucasians who insist on singing karaoke.
I am not large, and I do not sing karaoke.


It was not always a karaoke joint. Somewhat over ten years ago, more or less, the owner brought in the machinery, and things took off like a rocket. The current proprietess has had two screens installed so that football fans will be happy, and I expect that will boom the business even more.

Progress!

That sound you hear is me sneering. And scoffing.
Making a rude noise with my vocal cords.

I am a crude and heartless man.
Amateur crooning? Meh.
Sports? Feh.



What this world desperately needs is a late night steamed dumpling (蒸韭菜豬肉餃 'jing gau choi chyu yiuk gaau') place in Chinatown. WITH funky vinegar, soy sauce, and hot sauce.
As well as chili paste and Sriracha. WITHOUT karaoke or sports teevee.



==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================