She carried a furled umbrella that was nearly her height. It is quite likely that she knows how to wield it like a deadly weapon. Beware of small Cantonese ladies in the dark.
They're mentally steeled for blood-letting.
[Clean and neat. Sturdy. Sensibly dressed. An air of "don't mess with me boys, I will END you." Put that way, it sounds like someone I'd like to know. But, as I said, I wasn't thinking. And I don't know how to break the ice anyhow. Oh well.]
She did not say anything about my pipe.
Obviously it wasn't offensive.
Which is odd. All of them have old male relatives who smoke.
At least, I presume that's who discards the empty Double Happiness (雙喜) and LongLife (長壽) cigarette packs littering Ross and Spofford Alleys. Unless it's tourist white dudes who've fallen for exotic smokes. Which were winking at them alluringly.
When I got down past Powell, here and there old fellows hung around puffing ciggies.
It's a bad habit, you know. Makes your hair stink.
And it upsets your wife.
I should point out that I am not married and do not have a girlfriend.
There may be a reason for that. Don't speculate.
I'm sure it's just my personality.
Okay?
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