Near half eleven, toasting in the heat already and fighting fire with fire at Toast Box, Bugis Junction. (Not exactly for the ambiance.) Warm barley and thick, heavily sugared peanut butter on the wafer. Single slice cut in nine squares with fancy toothpick one corner.
Couple of matters from a new acquaintance last night over teh tarik at the namesake. But first the tee in Geylang some short while after the chat with Lynn, donned by a Mainland Chinese middle-aged woman a trifle downcast, trudging along the path:
KOONS
IS MY
KUNST At speed the graphic unfortunately unable to be identified.
Oh dear! The surplus fashions piled sky-high in the factory warehouses of Guangzhou big as football stadiums, you can picture! A sight they would be for sore eyes. Never quite making it to the bouvelards of Paris, London or Rome. Pilfered by the nightshift in order to proclaim artistic hierarchies on Geylang among the working girls, the eight hundred dollar (monthly) foreign laborers, the bicycle street vendors, the rag and bone ladies and gents of the current era (cardboard & aluminum in the main).
The woman concerned would probably like some of the giant puppies on the NY pavements. Back home they plonk such sculptures outside the apartment towers on the river-fronts that target the nouveau riche Asian investor. Buoying up the middle tier of the property market.
Earlier in the evening Lynn, a Singaporean Chinese of the third or fourth generation, who lives in the neighbourhood, eulogized the safety of the SG streets late into the night and through the wee hours, for gals such as herself who like to wander aimlessly at will. The caning here a small price to pay for such spectacular social order.
And Lynn like any other native will describe the crass Mainlanders' loudness, their unruliness and bad habits. In a shoe store they will take an item from the rack, examine it, and when it's unsatisfactoriness has been loudly expressed for all to hear, toss it back to its place with disgust. Completely unaware of the impression they have created.
You can always tell the Mainlanders. Even visitors with a sharp eye out don't have any trouble. An eyeful and a half you betchya.
Couple of matters from a new acquaintance last night over teh tarik at the namesake. But first the tee in Geylang some short while after the chat with Lynn, donned by a Mainland Chinese middle-aged woman a trifle downcast, trudging along the path:
KOONS
IS MY
KUNST At speed the graphic unfortunately unable to be identified.
Oh dear! The surplus fashions piled sky-high in the factory warehouses of Guangzhou big as football stadiums, you can picture! A sight they would be for sore eyes. Never quite making it to the bouvelards of Paris, London or Rome. Pilfered by the nightshift in order to proclaim artistic hierarchies on Geylang among the working girls, the eight hundred dollar (monthly) foreign laborers, the bicycle street vendors, the rag and bone ladies and gents of the current era (cardboard & aluminum in the main).
The woman concerned would probably like some of the giant puppies on the NY pavements. Back home they plonk such sculptures outside the apartment towers on the river-fronts that target the nouveau riche Asian investor. Buoying up the middle tier of the property market.
Earlier in the evening Lynn, a Singaporean Chinese of the third or fourth generation, who lives in the neighbourhood, eulogized the safety of the SG streets late into the night and through the wee hours, for gals such as herself who like to wander aimlessly at will. The caning here a small price to pay for such spectacular social order.
And Lynn like any other native will describe the crass Mainlanders' loudness, their unruliness and bad habits. In a shoe store they will take an item from the rack, examine it, and when it's unsatisfactoriness has been loudly expressed for all to hear, toss it back to its place with disgust. Completely unaware of the impression they have created.
You can always tell the Mainlanders. Even visitors with a sharp eye out don't have any trouble. An eyeful and a half you betchya.
No comments:
Post a Comment