THE HARVEST OF SOULS

Let's start off by saying that the singing was bloody awful. It took courage to stay there and put up with such bad singers pouring out their hearts and souls -- hearts and souls of such dankness and depravity that the fiery pits would have been considerably more pleasant and endurable -- but it was educational; karaoke will be the end of civilization as we know it.

On the other hand, while smoking my pipe much earlier, I had seen two adorable little girls, speaking English, accompanied by their mommie, speaking Mandarin. One of the things that always strikes me about little Chinese girls is how small they are comparatively.

These two were very pretty, cheerful, and well-mannered.
They were helping their mommie schlep stuff.

There was also a very disturbed person who passed me lunging and loudly gibbering. The little girls were not bothered by him, they're probably used to the occasional animated gesticulant white person off his rocker.

Much like I am.


The way I figure it, all the loose marbles in this country roll down till they hit the catch drain. Then they stay and get even loopier in the fog and wind, so glad that they finally got out of what is that place again. Except for the ones that run for governor of Arizona, of course.

That pipe smoked late at night in Chinatown is frequently the best smoke of the day. The bitter afternoon winds have died down, it's quiet and peaceful, and the tourist are not milling about blocking the sidewalk and being gooberish. Once or twice someone recognizes me and says 'hi'. but most of the time it's just me by myself, with the relatively rare screaming madman or non-Chinese hipsters passing by on their way to get a Chinese Mai Tai or sing karaoke and frighten little old ladies.


One imagines little old ladies sipping their Mai Tais contemplatively, not showing the disgust and existential despair brought on by white hipsters without any musical talent whatsoever. One feels for them profoundly.



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