SOMEWHERE NEAR THE TOP

The fellow-villagers from the place that's closed for a month have bailed out to where I had curry porkchops and rice. I could hear them talking animatedly about idiots, the communist party, the kuomintang, and vegetables, at the long table behind me as I ate.
When I came in there were two of them, when I left, six.

[Fellow-villagers: a term useful for describing Chinatown Toishanese, rather than Hong Kong or Kwangchow urbanites. And definitely not out-of-towners, tourists, or APEC visitors.]

Mostly in Cantonese, with frequent lapsing into dialect.
Which is transparent, albeit opaqueish.


The curry was excellent, the milk tea wonderfully powerful. The pipeful lasted till I had gotten down to Battery and Sacramento. California Street was blocked in various places for a very important motorcade, Montgomery Street positively vibrated from the honking by irate stuck motorists, and once on the bus I heard the bus radio begging drivers NOT to tell them about the riot on Market Street, they were already well aware of that thank you.

NOT NOB HILL IN THE RAIN

Sadly, the two important heads of state will not be impacted by tomorrow's rain, predicted to hit around lunch time. They will be 25 miles south of here with their handlers. So all those folks trying to storm the barricades will get wet for nothing. They won't disturb the heads, they won't even be noticed except by the riot squad, and they'll end up cold, soggy, and tired, hoarse from screaming into the vacuum.

I myself won't be there either. I'll be having lunch.
A far more worthwhile thing to do.



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