FRUITY SMALL FAGS AND A ROTUND WOMAN

Having left Ming's, I went around the corner and lit up. Not that he shouldn't see me smoking, he knows I do -- and we white guys habitually smell funny anyhow -- but because of wind. The cigarette was a Gui Yan (貴煙 'kwai yin'), and my sparking it offended a very large person from the great white interior of this continent. That stanks!

No ma'am, it does not. These slender piss-elegant ciggies have a flavour capsule (陳皮爆珠 'chan pei baau chyu') which makes them ultra-refined. It's something Hello Kitty would love.

See? Exceptionally thin cigarette, your fingers would probably crush it, and a popper that adds a dried tangerine peel taste to the smoke. It's not overstated, rather subtle.

I'm sorry they don't come in your size.


Grant Avenue was filled with pedestrians despite the heat. Both trim people and Americans. Guess which one ambles slowly, even by my hot-weather hating standards. I counted over sixty supersize-me's in three blocks. 嘩！咁多美國人太肥！你可唔可以講畀我知點解？

See, I'm guessing that the reason so many Americans are built like Sherman Tanks or solid oak trees (those are gooood things) is so that they won't be blown away by all the tornadoes and hurricanes that strike the Deep South and the Great Plains. It's genetic; the little ones were smashed to smithereens and did not contribute to the foetid gene swamp there.

Over-eating is a survival skill.


Anyway, did my errands, had lunch, visited my bank, grocery-shopped, and got out of there without even once loudly exclaiming "oh look there's a pink elephant".
Dodged stampeding mastodons and wildebeests.



I mumbled it sotto voce.



Eppur tamen moventur.



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