— Can I have a carrot juice? No ice. Just carrot.
— Sugar?
— No sugar. Thank you. Namaste handclasp. All overdone of course, but how else to communicate? (The English speaking waiter. The Chinese lad who'd be so perfect for film - a hard man killer or getaway driver - doesn't parle vous, one or two of the Indians likewise.)
The eternal foot-slog. Eternally captivating.
Two dollars, with a gap for the missing ice. That's the deal. Can't expect carrot all the way to the rim. They're alert to that trick.
....Second and third take needed and only then confirmed. Head tossed back at the shock: a white tee with light grey in the motif difficult to read.
TCHAIKO -
At the Chinese "Green" supermarket the other day it was either Swan Lake or the Nutcracker encouraging the customers. Unlike the big bash out on the squares and street corners roundabout here. Big number rock 'n' roll bluesy blasts from the Indon performers, raunchy crooners all. Legless drunk on the other side. Thank god for his stout through-thick-and-thin companion. Mid twenties unusual skunk straight like that. Lack of aircon makes the street a must. Not to mention the expense where it's had by the slightly better off. Swiveling the head around at one's fellows down here makes the heat more bearable. Infinitely preferable to the lonely room, the confinement, trash on the box, listening to the wife. Weariness necessary for sleep in the sweatboxes. Cheeky old codger going past on his unlighted iron horse against the traffic ringing his bell, accompanying grin bright as the street light. (Knowing not to show his gap-toothed smile.) Target more than likely the old creased heavy-lidded lizard sitting over his teh tarik with one of the older, less comely mainland Chinese lasses. Zero reaction forthcoming.... Old fella like him thinking to get it up...Ho-ho-ho. This one'd be perfect for the flicks too. Bar-room owner, everything goes down at his joint.
Number of monks each day not recalled two years ago. Often recognizing a like soul - young lads just beginning on that road. Some fair guesswork possible by the facial features. Shy ones, reticent, resourceful. Humourless, preoccupied, over-wrought. More than anything, everywhere and on every face a coming to terms; no restlessness or rebellion. Net place without a free seat anywhere. Games predominating, skype with family back home, child held up to the camera, a girlfriend or sister. Sunday, the orange-haired Chinese boy manning the desk explains. Reason for the less lively street too. Not like Saturdays and Fridays. Checking-in back home Sundays, play-up the other days. Fit for the challenge these labourers, working girls the same. Like the sixty year old cycling by with the cardboard pieces mounted up on the rack behind her. Not likely she's going to roll over and die. There is no fate that cannot be overcome by disdain, said the French prose-poet.
The bone structures and the colours here. Endlessly one after the other trooping past in the gutter where the passage is less cluttered. You artists lay down and die. You aint seen nothing. (With your inner eye.) The aluminum can gatherer's large bin mounted on his bicycle rack, plastic bags for the extra. Good night's fossicking. The portrait painter an absurdity. All those delicate souls back home at their study, their pics in the magazines. Capturing this facet and that. Of the notables of course, Archibalds and the rest. The glimpse, the breath within. Be told you deceivers one and all, you playground playthings. Deceiving yourselves first of all. Most accept the acknowledgement; surprised to receive it some. Quite often. The note-taking a corroboration of sorts. Between the ages of twenty and mid-thirties - full strength of the working man. The Viet girls down the road are often mid-teens; unlike the Mainland Chin lasses. Yet it's the lads that captivate most of all. History and the future all contained there. Familiar unknowns. Our own gastarbiters from the late sixties/early seventies they recall, cut very much from the same cloth.
— No sugar. Thank you. Namaste handclasp. All overdone of course, but how else to communicate? (The English speaking waiter. The Chinese lad who'd be so perfect for film - a hard man killer or getaway driver - doesn't parle vous, one or two of the Indians likewise.)
The eternal foot-slog. Eternally captivating.
Two dollars, with a gap for the missing ice. That's the deal. Can't expect carrot all the way to the rim. They're alert to that trick.
....Second and third take needed and only then confirmed. Head tossed back at the shock: a white tee with light grey in the motif difficult to read.
TCHAIKO -
At the Chinese "Green" supermarket the other day it was either Swan Lake or the Nutcracker encouraging the customers. Unlike the big bash out on the squares and street corners roundabout here. Big number rock 'n' roll bluesy blasts from the Indon performers, raunchy crooners all. Legless drunk on the other side. Thank god for his stout through-thick-and-thin companion. Mid twenties unusual skunk straight like that. Lack of aircon makes the street a must. Not to mention the expense where it's had by the slightly better off. Swiveling the head around at one's fellows down here makes the heat more bearable. Infinitely preferable to the lonely room, the confinement, trash on the box, listening to the wife. Weariness necessary for sleep in the sweatboxes. Cheeky old codger going past on his unlighted iron horse against the traffic ringing his bell, accompanying grin bright as the street light. (Knowing not to show his gap-toothed smile.) Target more than likely the old creased heavy-lidded lizard sitting over his teh tarik with one of the older, less comely mainland Chinese lasses. Zero reaction forthcoming.... Old fella like him thinking to get it up...Ho-ho-ho. This one'd be perfect for the flicks too. Bar-room owner, everything goes down at his joint.
Number of monks each day not recalled two years ago. Often recognizing a like soul - young lads just beginning on that road. Some fair guesswork possible by the facial features. Shy ones, reticent, resourceful. Humourless, preoccupied, over-wrought. More than anything, everywhere and on every face a coming to terms; no restlessness or rebellion. Net place without a free seat anywhere. Games predominating, skype with family back home, child held up to the camera, a girlfriend or sister. Sunday, the orange-haired Chinese boy manning the desk explains. Reason for the less lively street too. Not like Saturdays and Fridays. Checking-in back home Sundays, play-up the other days. Fit for the challenge these labourers, working girls the same. Like the sixty year old cycling by with the cardboard pieces mounted up on the rack behind her. Not likely she's going to roll over and die. There is no fate that cannot be overcome by disdain, said the French prose-poet.
The bone structures and the colours here. Endlessly one after the other trooping past in the gutter where the passage is less cluttered. You artists lay down and die. You aint seen nothing. (With your inner eye.) The aluminum can gatherer's large bin mounted on his bicycle rack, plastic bags for the extra. Good night's fossicking. The portrait painter an absurdity. All those delicate souls back home at their study, their pics in the magazines. Capturing this facet and that. Of the notables of course, Archibalds and the rest. The glimpse, the breath within. Be told you deceivers one and all, you playground playthings. Deceiving yourselves first of all. Most accept the acknowledgement; surprised to receive it some. Quite often. The note-taking a corroboration of sorts. Between the ages of twenty and mid-thirties - full strength of the working man. The Viet girls down the road are often mid-teens; unlike the Mainland Chin lasses. Yet it's the lads that captivate most of all. History and the future all contained there. Familiar unknowns. Our own gastarbiters from the late sixties/early seventies they recall, cut very much from the same cloth.
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