I MAY BE MAGNETIC

Perhaps I shouldn't have ordered the Baked Portuguese Chicken Rice (焗葡國雞飯 'guk pou gwok gai faan'). It just wasn't very good. As I knew. Also, one of the people who subsequently sat at the next table had that vacuous look of someone who spends too much time working on her face, like her fondest wish was to be a decadent money-lenders plaything.
Or Shanghainese.

Tea time found me after doing errands at a place where I haven't been in a while. Which was empty when I went in, and crowded with white people when I left. That's two places filled with experimental caucasians this week.


There's something wrong in the matrix.
I seriously doubt it's me.
It's flooding.

Possibly the problem is that I radiate sheer healthfulness because of two recent vaccinations which should be reaching peak effectiveness right now, or the fact that my pipes say this is a man you can trust and feel safe around, or my bonhomie and good nature.
More likely the first than the latter two.

Any moment now I expect a Karen to tell me "smile" or inform me as if I wanted to know that if I didn't smoke (a pipe) I would have just oodles of friends and a very active dating life.


Whereupon I will tell her that I am just here to observe, I'm waiting for the mothership to take me away, and in any case her planet is doomed.



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