("EAVSDROPPING ON THE STEAM BUNS" is a little dumpling of a story that came to mind the other day while I was jogging through Vancouver's China-town.
China-town is a great place to appreciate the decay of colorful architecture, unique shops selling mysterious Chinese food items and of course the craziest crazies in the world who are just stumbling through on their way to their next fix.
Enjoy...)
While on the outside his body is frozen from movement, inside his mind is another matter altogether. His brains are clouded with microscopic storms of misfiring neurons and synaptic lightening bolts firing off into painful directions. He is messed up on the drugs that his body manufactures. In geographical terms. his body is a tiny drug producing nation that exports something akin to junk straight to his brains.
Of course the crack that he smoked three minutes ago doesn't help matters.
He stands in the middle of the makeshift lineup at the Chinese Bakery. He stares at the steamed buns.
Raindrops the size of raisins comes down heavily on the street outside.
"This weather's bumming me out," says one steamed bun to the other.
"This weather is shit," replies the other.
"Do you owe me money ?"
"No, you owe me money."
"I need to get an umbrella."
"What do you need an umbrella for ? You're gonna be gobbled down in a couple minutes."
"I want an umbrella for the trip down."
"You can't always get what you want," screams the other steamed bun in his best Mick Jagger impersonation.
A woman behind the cash register of the Chinese Bakery interrupts the conversation and shouts at the man, telling him to get outside.
He wakes up from his hallucination and steps outside beneath clouds the color of steamed buns.
China-town is a great place to appreciate the decay of colorful architecture, unique shops selling mysterious Chinese food items and of course the craziest crazies in the world who are just stumbling through on their way to their next fix.
Enjoy...)
EAVSDROPPING ON THE STEAM BUNS
While on the outside his body is frozen from movement, inside his mind is another matter altogether. His brains are clouded with microscopic storms of misfiring neurons and synaptic lightening bolts firing off into painful directions. He is messed up on the drugs that his body manufactures. In geographical terms. his body is a tiny drug producing nation that exports something akin to junk straight to his brains.
Of course the crack that he smoked three minutes ago doesn't help matters.
He stands in the middle of the makeshift lineup at the Chinese Bakery. He stares at the steamed buns.
Raindrops the size of raisins comes down heavily on the street outside.
"This weather's bumming me out," says one steamed bun to the other.
"This weather is shit," replies the other.
"Do you owe me money ?"
"No, you owe me money."
"I need to get an umbrella."
"What do you need an umbrella for ? You're gonna be gobbled down in a couple minutes."
"I want an umbrella for the trip down."
"You can't always get what you want," screams the other steamed bun in his best Mick Jagger impersonation.
A woman behind the cash register of the Chinese Bakery interrupts the conversation and shouts at the man, telling him to get outside.
He wakes up from his hallucination and steps outside beneath clouds the color of steamed buns.
posted by kevin spenst at 3:35 PM
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