Thursday, July 04, 2024

HEATHENS RUNNING AMUCK IN SHORTS

Good lord there are a lot of outsiders in the city. After having a bowl of congee and a fried dough stick I lit my pipe, and stood in the shadows counting obese people. Of which there are swarms. Huge swarms. Awsomely humongous. Huuuuuuge.

Sorry.


Angelic little blonde kid posing with dried fish. Click.
Large thighs in front of a shop window. Click.
Ooh, an array of whatevers! Click.

It should be noted that the average Caucasian young person only knows from battered fish chunks, microwavable, and perhaps tuna salad. As well as salmon, which no one in his family understands how to prepare properly. It's very sad.
Dried fish is utterly "foreign".

Tourists, sadly, bring out the unmitigated savage in me. I want to tie them up and dance around them, yowling. Plus I resent their waddlesome mobility as they tromp around my sector of the city with their carbonated beverages, ice cream cones, and vulgar tattoos.

It's probably worse where they come from.
More skin, because of the heat.
The burning zone.
In a Sci-Fi universe we'd send agents out into the hotlands wearing special protective gear against the blazing temperatures, in cooled vehicles, to hunt down murderous mutants and degenerates. Real world: we invite them into the city, where it is substantially cooler, to snap selfies and spend money. It's over one hundred degrees Fahrenheit where they're from.
Just around seventy here.

The place where I had dumplings yesterday was jam-packed.
The congee cafetaria had four empty tables.
Congee is not bourgeois.
Unhip.

The place where I had afternoon tea and a nible was not doing a booming business either. Too old-fashioned, terminally unhip, with incomprehensible unknown edibles, and what on earth is Hong Kong Milk Tea?

There was a line outside the matcha icecream place.
And a throng up the street waiting for their bobas.



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