Last Saturday I went to Chinatown to check out the Super Home Mart. Aisles of cookware, rice cookers, bamboo steamers, pots and pans for exotic Chinese dishes that I don't know how to make. I kept checking the labels to see if something from Bangladesh or Turkey slipped by the goods inspector. But no, every item was made in China. At least they're consistent. After walking up and down every single aisle, I left without purchasing anything to the dismay of the middleaged Chinese man who trailed me through the store. Next time I do want to buy a plastic bento box. I've been wanting to buy one ever since I saw a Taiwanese girl eating a piece of cheese and a boiled egg from one on the steps of the British Museum.
My goal was to take photos of all the Chinese men sitting in front of Wonder Bakery. Being the little chicken I am, I didn't get any pictures of the jabbering, gap toothed, and gold crowned old men. But I did get a "You're a beautiful woman. God bless you." from a kind elderly black gentleman with a deep soulful voice.
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