Chindian (?)

Opposite and one across. You couldn't be sure of course outside your racial and familiar groups and all that. Sometimes "pure" Chins have taken quite a caste here on the Equator, say three-four generations. The dribble making you choke—luckily food not arrived as yet. Sikh luncheon companion must have been juicy loaded, eager licking his bum-hole clean as you like. Oh! FFFF me dead! Has to be a contract on offer with lottsa zeroes if only he can suck hard enough. Would be great to tape secretly, kidnap the bloke——No! Wait for a family dinner when the kids and their partners were gathered and hit PLAY. Peppering laughter. Oh, shiite! a churchgoer. Is good lah, some spiritual. Verbatim. Nothing invented. Wife was a Muslim he seemed to have said, they strike a balance, foot in both camps can't hurt, monotheism after all and lottsa the Prophets shared—good to get some spiritual into the mix, jazz things up; earning can drag a soul down. Reminded of the Indian the other morning at the City Plaza Buddhist shrine along the side of the building facing the river. Not often you saw that. Fella knew what he was about, no first-timer: smoking sticks onto the forehead waving. Chins you often found in the Hindu temples covering their arses: not other way round. That was a first in fact. Luckily none of the Hindutva hardliners were around, fella might have ended in the drink with sinkers wrapped tight. I'll be frank with you.... Dye, scan, strokes in the family opened the door to the church and conversion most probably. Smells the blood closing in on a deal. HeeHaw, HeeHaw. (If there was a joke author musta dozed off.) Landed property the other, five room place brought gasps and head-nodding. The $3,000 a sq.m. figure? Poor old Sikh charmed by the admiration and envy making him into a Maharajah. Learn something from you.... Chap's sheer bodily presence and aura, being caught in his orbit, delivers a valuable Masterclass for a man still climbing the crowded middle rungs; Dale Carnegie small-fry by comparison. There was a big Sikh on his handphone in his Roller from the No. 67 coming out. This guy similar size but less fattie; might not have a wad like the earlier. In fact, shall we make a move?... Sprinted to the register to pick up the $10 tab. Earlier fellow had the audacity to term the place (the author's all-time favourite mind).... How shall I say? Rustic.... The other KV on Serangoon Road had aircon. They have it here too but.... too open. Socks and polished lace-ups made it tougher proposition. Musta bin the Turban's choice and he went along. Contract on the back seat of the car, hopefully he can strike while the iron's hot.