sex and diamonds

he'd be like the next guy at the chicken rice queue.but he wasnt something fat, ugly or bald like everyone else in the chicken rice queue.he was chinese though, and chinese he was.he'd listen to jay on the chair beside his pool next to his flat under the sky filled with stars he'd tell his friend about, he'd listen to jay on the buses from toapayoh. and he never wanted to be the next guy in the queue, because he'd be too hungry to stand and wait.he'd buy from the queueless stalls with aunties fanning themselves on their fannies on their plastic stool, and then he would buy more from all the similar stalls. he always will, and it wasnt clear whether it was noble altruism, or if it was animal hunger. Hungry animals would pester him on his good days when he strutted around with the world slung at the perfect angle on his shoulder, and then some more on the lock of hair he'd blow up every so often.yet animals have a way of forgetting, something he knew very well but didnt bother about, since, he figured, he was only to them far less than they were to him, for very few things mattered to him. very few indeed, but he cared too much about too little things when it would have been breezier to care less about more things.he'd be like the next guy in the chicken rice queue, save some other things that could be important depending on how you see it.he'd still pop his angry red pus-filled pimple perched precariously on the edge of his lip, wincing and then fingering and then examining the fruits of his labour. and he'd wash his hands every time he went home, chuckling triumphantly at all the potential angry red pus-filled pimples he would never see.