The wanton lady is always smiling.
She's not jaded like the rest of them.
She's from mainland China.
She gives her very best and personally I think her wantons are the best on the street by a long shot.
She married a local.
I knew she had a daughter but wasn't aware that the autistic boy sitting at the table next to me was her son. He's flicking through a Chinese paper and making grunts and groans.
He's in his own little world.
I try to make small chit chat but the boy is in his self-enclosed world, totally oblivious to the fat aging tourist.
Then mum comes and puts on his shoes and dad takes him and his daughter back to school.
Alex is always bitching about management.
He has a stall next to the wanton lady.
He sells noodles and rice dishes. His prices are great and he's quick.
He tried to short change me ten Ringgit.
The twenty Ringgit notes look like the ten Ringgit notes, I was telling him the other day. And now he's trying to short change me.
'Very sorry,' he says. I'm sure it was genuine. But he only just went out to change my twenty note. He really doesn't sleep much and is always dozing off.
Bang bang. "Wake up Alex,' I say and order a dish. Or I might just bang the table next to his stand to remind him that the world is waiting for him and his wonderful dishes.
He isn't' the best cook but his fried noodles is great value for five Ringgit. He tries his best and is always good for a toothpick after my meal.
'I don't need to be the best cook for the prices I charge.'
Totally agree.
He worked me up and I complained to Cindy about the piss weak coffee.
It's cheap too and I have no right to complain.
Since then, Cindy has been a bit frosty.
'Your coffee is great,' I eventually say. I was showing her a menu of a trendy cafe that charges nine Ringgit for a coffee. So of course her coffee is fantastic. How can you beat one ringgit and fifty cents? By buying your own. But you don't get the crazy ambiance drinking coffee alone in your hotel room.
He was totally crazy and didn't hesitate to sit at my table. Sure, you can have a cigarette. I had an old smoke I pulled out of my bag that I rested on the table.
He started mumbling.
The two Chinese Malaysian tourists from the mainland looked on.
One of them handed over a half-finished cup of coffee to the weirdo.
'You won't understand him,' says the older of the two.
'My grandmother died and they buried her the next day.'
I got that much.
'Leave him alone,' said the older of the two, 'he's a tourist and doesn't want to be disturbed.'
Another crazo, a woman in her thirties, a big gut but a pretty face, is also trolling the streets.
She's eyeing me up and smoking a cigarette.
Mr. Wacko at my table is now going on one. He's got my attention. I look over to the two Chinese then back at my new coffee buddy. Every time I look at Mr. Wacko, his head moves in recognition. His head is swiveling now as I look back and forward quickly.
The question is, who is the whacko?
It could be me.
'Wanna fuck.'
Miss Whacko just cruised past me again and leaned in to ask that.
Do I want a fuck. She wasn't half bad.
Do you want a fuck?
I couldn't make this up even if I wanted to, could I?
She's not jaded like the rest of them.
She's from mainland China.
She gives her very best and personally I think her wantons are the best on the street by a long shot.
She married a local.
I knew she had a daughter but wasn't aware that the autistic boy sitting at the table next to me was her son. He's flicking through a Chinese paper and making grunts and groans.
He's in his own little world.
I try to make small chit chat but the boy is in his self-enclosed world, totally oblivious to the fat aging tourist.
Then mum comes and puts on his shoes and dad takes him and his daughter back to school.
Alex is always bitching about management.
He has a stall next to the wanton lady.
He sells noodles and rice dishes. His prices are great and he's quick.
He tried to short change me ten Ringgit.
The twenty Ringgit notes look like the ten Ringgit notes, I was telling him the other day. And now he's trying to short change me.
'Very sorry,' he says. I'm sure it was genuine. But he only just went out to change my twenty note. He really doesn't sleep much and is always dozing off.
Bang bang. "Wake up Alex,' I say and order a dish. Or I might just bang the table next to his stand to remind him that the world is waiting for him and his wonderful dishes.
He isn't' the best cook but his fried noodles is great value for five Ringgit. He tries his best and is always good for a toothpick after my meal.
'I don't need to be the best cook for the prices I charge.'
Totally agree.
He worked me up and I complained to Cindy about the piss weak coffee.
It's cheap too and I have no right to complain.
Since then, Cindy has been a bit frosty.
'Your coffee is great,' I eventually say. I was showing her a menu of a trendy cafe that charges nine Ringgit for a coffee. So of course her coffee is fantastic. How can you beat one ringgit and fifty cents? By buying your own. But you don't get the crazy ambiance drinking coffee alone in your hotel room.
He was totally crazy and didn't hesitate to sit at my table. Sure, you can have a cigarette. I had an old smoke I pulled out of my bag that I rested on the table.
He started mumbling.
The two Chinese Malaysian tourists from the mainland looked on.
One of them handed over a half-finished cup of coffee to the weirdo.
'You won't understand him,' says the older of the two.
'My grandmother died and they buried her the next day.'
I got that much.
'Leave him alone,' said the older of the two, 'he's a tourist and doesn't want to be disturbed.'
Another crazo, a woman in her thirties, a big gut but a pretty face, is also trolling the streets.
She's eyeing me up and smoking a cigarette.
Mr. Wacko at my table is now going on one. He's got my attention. I look over to the two Chinese then back at my new coffee buddy. Every time I look at Mr. Wacko, his head moves in recognition. His head is swiveling now as I look back and forward quickly.
The question is, who is the whacko?
It could be me.
'Wanna fuck.'
Miss Whacko just cruised past me again and leaned in to ask that.
Do I want a fuck. She wasn't half bad.
Do you want a fuck?
I couldn't make this up even if I wanted to, could I?
