This guy was into the whole “Oriental thing” and he totally wanted it. I appreciated his height and the fact that he could probably pick me up and save me from a forest fire with ease but that was about it. Thrice after work I joined him and other co-workers for commiseration and drinks at the local dollar bar, (which were, of course, often one in the same). The conversation was beginning to become stale and wallets were thinning so I got nostalgic and puked in the bathroom. Later, I returned to my tiny apartment alone and manic.
We rarely speak now because I don’t feel like feigning interest, out of respect really. Occasionally I get bored and toss him a laugh for a joke that will go nowhere. For experimental purposes, to differentiate between the xx and xy chromosomes, I gathered a bucket of soapy water and stuck my hand in its warmth. The suds stuck to my hand quite effectively; I didn’t rinse them off. I walked through the hallway, past his cubicle, all the while ignoring him, letting my sudsy hand fall to my side, the other carrying the bucket. Like a waltz that no one was watching, he left his desk, pretending not to follow me, to get a drink at the water cooler. He paused in front of me, slowly sipping the liquid, his head tilted back towards the sky, sighed, and sauntered off. I laughed to myself because I was so much better at this game.
I took my break a few hours later and glued myself upon your pixels and preceded to die a slow and painful death.
thisissambodia.com 