Girl with the plastic lei

Tonight the Girl with the Plas­tic Lei came and had din­ner with me, and I lis­tened to her talk.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me, she said. I don’t know what’s wrong, is it just me or is he not the one or is it just me?

I don’t know, Girl with the Plas­tic Lei, it could be a bit of both, says me, the mas­ter of equivocation.

See, I don’t know if it’s because I’m sab­o­tag­ing myself by get­ting into rela­tion­ships which will never work out.

My eyes fol­lowed her chop­sticks as they clutched half a dozen strands of noo­dles high up above her bowl of la mian. So high, if she had dropped them, they’d have made an almighty splash back in the bowl.

No, I don’t think you’re sab­o­tag­ing yourself.

I don’t think I am either. But why is it like that? Will he just become another ran­dom sta­tis­tic?

Maybe, I said. And I winced as she burst one xiao­long­bao acci­den­tally with her chopsticks.

But I think I should be happy with what I have now, which is my job, my bike and my cat.

And your plas­tic flower neck­lace. It’s nice.

Goes well with the bracelet, huh?

You are too cool, Girl with the Plas­tic Lei.

Some of ‘em are a work of art.

mr brown show 14th April 2005. Or via sub­scrip­tion here.