The Chinese man with a moustache is seen loitering outside the semi-detached house. Quiet neighbourhood and that area terminated in a circular cul-de-sac. Another Chinese bloke came out and handed a small wad of cash; in a multiples of 50 I presume. The guy with a moustache quickly left after grabbing the money.
Mr Moustache is dressed in a different colour today but it's still a polo T albeit of an inferior quality. This time, I saw him enter a much bigger house. This one has a dog with a pink nose, a black Citroen 2CV (or something similar, I'm not sure), and another 7-seater MPV. I love the interior: vases, china with dragons on them, some wooden sculptures and a shelf full of books, besides the modern electrical appliances. "An antique dealer" I thought to myself. "Not easy dealing with old pieces. After all, who buys antique items everyday?"
"But I don't have that much", the bespectacled man said.
"I need it for [unintelligible]" Mr Moustache replied, eyebrows lowered.
"Here, this is all I have. I need the rest for the week's expenses."
"Thanks, I'd be back..." I waited with bated breath. "To return the cash." He turned away, still laughing. Creep.
It's wonderful how our mind works. We'd weave the most interesting of stories or those with tear-eliciting plots. Ah, with imagination I know no bounds. I could penetrate walls. See through walls. I could even move from one point to another, both having totally different settings, the instant I wish to do so. Sometimes, true stories seemed like fiction and I couldn't believe it myself.
I see Mr Moustache again. "Son, do you have some cash?"
Mr Moustache is dressed in a different colour today but it's still a polo T albeit of an inferior quality. This time, I saw him enter a much bigger house. This one has a dog with a pink nose, a black Citroen 2CV (or something similar, I'm not sure), and another 7-seater MPV. I love the interior: vases, china with dragons on them, some wooden sculptures and a shelf full of books, besides the modern electrical appliances. "An antique dealer" I thought to myself. "Not easy dealing with old pieces. After all, who buys antique items everyday?"
"But I don't have that much", the bespectacled man said.
"I need it for [unintelligible]" Mr Moustache replied, eyebrows lowered.
"Here, this is all I have. I need the rest for the week's expenses."
"Thanks, I'd be back..." I waited with bated breath. "To return the cash." He turned away, still laughing. Creep.
It's wonderful how our mind works. We'd weave the most interesting of stories or those with tear-eliciting plots. Ah, with imagination I know no bounds. I could penetrate walls. See through walls. I could even move from one point to another, both having totally different settings, the instant I wish to do so. Sometimes, true stories seemed like fiction and I couldn't believe it myself.
I see Mr Moustache again. "Son, do you have some cash?"
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