Sweet and Sour


Obscurity and profound.

I know it’s the big thing these days, especially amongst the blogging community to find and frequent the boulevards of Alhambra, San Gabriel, Arcadia, Monterey Park, Rosemead, Temple City, and Rowland Heights.

Find the funkiest and smelliest.
Some small place with sticky tables, as if that is the measuring stick for what defines a good meal.
Hole in the wall or give me hole in the head. Death.
Liberty is not something manifested by the properties themselves as they are auspiciously nominated as the nom nom and given the equivalent of a cheer. Pom Pom.

I love me some XLB and beef rolls and dung po pork and clay pots and sea cucumber and pork floss and Chengdong noodles and water fish and jellyfish and hand pulled noodles.

But you see, they are not these quests of Columbus. They are normal gatherings. Family affairs. Graduations.
From the inside out, it’s actually just food.
Not a find.

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New York Grimes


I spent all night looking for an old New York.
An old me.
But all I saw were people with clear eyes.
Went left right up down.
All over town, searching for loneliness.
But it was only marriages that was found.
Alphabet city.
The letters spell change.
Everyone was so happy.
All that used to be deranged,
has been rearranged.
I spent all night looking for an old New York,
when it was only an old me that will forever be estranged.