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.