Memories of the Wind.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Horned.
There's no real attraction in going to the wet market for me. I do not decide what should be cooked, though I do have a fair say in what is going to be in my stomach later on. Hence, I was stoning (神游) almost throughout the trip. In what was the aftermath, I realised my soul must have attained a intimate level of redundancy as it scoured through my puny brain for random thoughts.
I only sprang alive when a couple of Japanese ladies in their mid-30s came to the market. Well, they are better dressed. Even if age has erased some of the lustre from what was an evident claim of beauty, I still stole some glances at the married women.
Tsk tsk. What's this post supposed to be? Proof that I am horny?
Look guys, no horns on my head.
LOL.
I only sprang alive when a couple of Japanese ladies in their mid-30s came to the market. Well, they are better dressed. Even if age has erased some of the lustre from what was an evident claim of beauty, I still stole some glances at the married women.
Tsk tsk. What's this post supposed to be? Proof that I am horny?
Look guys, no horns on my head.
LOL.
Labels: lame
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