懒惰的屁股
I was chewing my steak and really enjoyed the juice that came out of the meat. There was nothing could compare to meat in the world. I could understand being a vegetarian but never strive to become one. I was happy to admit this defeat.
Many French bistros sit in the /coin/ of the street. Parisians pick a seat in the terrace, order a wine, light a cigarette, sit back and watch the passing pedestrians with no intention to hide. In Paris, it is interesting enough just by watching people. People are more lovely when they’re alone and not busy.
The bistro I picked was even better. It located at the intersection of a T-shape street. It was in the Marais district where there were many boutique stores and gay. People here were better looking no matter if they were gay or not. It was a simple pleasure observing their gesture of holding a thin cigarette, the curve of their bobbed hair, and their not luxurious but tasteful outfit. What I admired the most about Parisian girls were their eyelashes. They had natural length and very subtle curl. They were never big, but the authenticity added much to their sexiness.
Right after I finished my last bite in my plate, Alex showed up. I greeted him with unusual enthusiasm, thanks to our short separation. We kissed and he sat down.
"How are you doing today my love?” I asked.
"I’m good. Met with my friend from university. He just finished his master degree.”
"Just finished? He’s two years younger than you?"
"He’s one year younger but he did one year twice. For one year he was doing nothing ‘cuz he’s a lazy ass.” Alex said. Without elaborating on their meeting, he asked, "How are you today?"
I was so pumped to pour out all the information since I had been writing and silent all day,
“Pretty good. I slept till 11 and felt so bad so I went to this coffee shop was about to work hard but ended up messing with the shitty wifi for one hour still didn’t work. Was so frustrated and left it pissed off. Then I found a pretty little tea house with for God's sake good wifi. So I was writing in the tea house and had pretty good progress, until the owner kicked me out ‘cuz they were closing. Now I just finished my steak and I’m a content lazy ass."
“You’re not a lazy ass, bunny. The guy I met with today is a lazy ass for real. He cares about nothing other than putting his ass in a chair and sip a glass of wine. And there are a shit ton of them in France who are just like that.”
Alex is French, but not quite French. At least I never think of him as French. Since we met in the States, I always pictured him as a guy who was also a foreigner in the country and spoke worse English than I did. As I’ve always been trying to keep distance from Chinese, he missed Paris so much when we were in San Francisco but stated that he couldn’t stand it for any longer than two months. So here we are, staying in Paris for two months, for me to feel the city and for him to visit family.
“Really?” Now I was like a kid who thought she was the last in an exam then was told there was someone who was worse.
"Sometimes I wonder, how can they be lazy ass and do not care? It always amazes me."
"If I don’t learn or work, I feel guilty.”
“They don’t feel guilty at all. They seem to be happy all day. You know, no those anxiety and depression shit. Just enjoy life.” Apparently Alex had some bitterness over French and hated some traits in them. But I was not sure what. Or maybe we are just the kind of people who have bitterness over everyone we dislike and can’t get along with.
“And they seem to be rich too. It doesn’t make sense. We read, learn. We’re smart. And we work our asses off. It wouldn’t make sense if we’re poorer than those lazy asses, would it? Unless lazy asses are born with rich dads. That we couldn’t help.”
Sometimes when you’re in a conversation, you add salt on the go. But it was not a fake one just to appeal to him. The sarcasm was as real as my bad temper when I woke up in the morning without getting a coffee. But I could eliminate that arrogance and be more cautious not to bite my tongue if I had been in a conversation with somebody else.
“Or maybe we’re not smarter. We just think we’re smarter but we may be wrong."
We both paused for some time and seemed to be speculating in our minds. Apparently neither of us were satisfied with this inference. So I tried to come up with another theory,
“Or maybe they do feel guilty and anxious they just don’t show it." I started to play the demon from the hell revealing the truth, punctuating the sentence to make it sound more fearful, "What you couldn’t see is every night before sleep, their heart filled with regret ‘cuz they think of all the possibilities that could have happened and all the meaningfulness they have missed to create.”
Alex giggled, "To be honest, I think they don’t give a shit."
"Yeah, maybe...” I was defeated for one second and then thought of something else. I said with reacquired confidence, "But... You know what, before they die, that one second before they run out of breathe, they would flash back their life and their soul tortured, as they would feel the life they lived is a complete vain."
"We would too. More or less. Everyone would feel that when he dies."
“Yeah, you're right." I was a bit frustrated, fiddling around with the left olives in my plate, trying to accept the unfair reality.
The waiter came to place the wine Alex had ordered in front of him. He sipped the wine, and a look appeared on his face as if it reminded him of something enlightening. He smiled and withdrew the ambience he had created for our little game, "But we don’t give a shit. We love each other. Fuck them."
"Yeah, fuck them. Fuck everyone."
We both felt some sort of alliance and deceived ourselves for another night’s victory.
Many French bistros sit in the /coin/ of the street. Parisians pick a seat in the terrace, order a wine, light a cigarette, sit back and watch the passing pedestrians with no intention to hide. In Paris, it is interesting enough just by watching people. People are more lovely when they’re alone and not busy.
The bistro I picked was even better. It located at the intersection of a T-shape street. It was in the Marais district where there were many boutique stores and gay. People here were better looking no matter if they were gay or not. It was a simple pleasure observing their gesture of holding a thin cigarette, the curve of their bobbed hair, and their not luxurious but tasteful outfit. What I admired the most about Parisian girls were their eyelashes. They had natural length and very subtle curl. They were never big, but the authenticity added much to their sexiness.
Right after I finished my last bite in my plate, Alex showed up. I greeted him with unusual enthusiasm, thanks to our short separation. We kissed and he sat down.
"How are you doing today my love?” I asked.
"I’m good. Met with my friend from university. He just finished his master degree.”
"Just finished? He’s two years younger than you?"
"He’s one year younger but he did one year twice. For one year he was doing nothing ‘cuz he’s a lazy ass.” Alex said. Without elaborating on their meeting, he asked, "How are you today?"
I was so pumped to pour out all the information since I had been writing and silent all day,
“Pretty good. I slept till 11 and felt so bad so I went to this coffee shop was about to work hard but ended up messing with the shitty wifi for one hour still didn’t work. Was so frustrated and left it pissed off. Then I found a pretty little tea house with for God's sake good wifi. So I was writing in the tea house and had pretty good progress, until the owner kicked me out ‘cuz they were closing. Now I just finished my steak and I’m a content lazy ass."
“You’re not a lazy ass, bunny. The guy I met with today is a lazy ass for real. He cares about nothing other than putting his ass in a chair and sip a glass of wine. And there are a shit ton of them in France who are just like that.”
Alex is French, but not quite French. At least I never think of him as French. Since we met in the States, I always pictured him as a guy who was also a foreigner in the country and spoke worse English than I did. As I’ve always been trying to keep distance from Chinese, he missed Paris so much when we were in San Francisco but stated that he couldn’t stand it for any longer than two months. So here we are, staying in Paris for two months, for me to feel the city and for him to visit family.
“Really?” Now I was like a kid who thought she was the last in an exam then was told there was someone who was worse.
"Sometimes I wonder, how can they be lazy ass and do not care? It always amazes me."
"If I don’t learn or work, I feel guilty.”
“They don’t feel guilty at all. They seem to be happy all day. You know, no those anxiety and depression shit. Just enjoy life.” Apparently Alex had some bitterness over French and hated some traits in them. But I was not sure what. Or maybe we are just the kind of people who have bitterness over everyone we dislike and can’t get along with.
“And they seem to be rich too. It doesn’t make sense. We read, learn. We’re smart. And we work our asses off. It wouldn’t make sense if we’re poorer than those lazy asses, would it? Unless lazy asses are born with rich dads. That we couldn’t help.”
Sometimes when you’re in a conversation, you add salt on the go. But it was not a fake one just to appeal to him. The sarcasm was as real as my bad temper when I woke up in the morning without getting a coffee. But I could eliminate that arrogance and be more cautious not to bite my tongue if I had been in a conversation with somebody else.
“Or maybe we’re not smarter. We just think we’re smarter but we may be wrong."
We both paused for some time and seemed to be speculating in our minds. Apparently neither of us were satisfied with this inference. So I tried to come up with another theory,
“Or maybe they do feel guilty and anxious they just don’t show it." I started to play the demon from the hell revealing the truth, punctuating the sentence to make it sound more fearful, "What you couldn’t see is every night before sleep, their heart filled with regret ‘cuz they think of all the possibilities that could have happened and all the meaningfulness they have missed to create.”
Alex giggled, "To be honest, I think they don’t give a shit."
"Yeah, maybe...” I was defeated for one second and then thought of something else. I said with reacquired confidence, "But... You know what, before they die, that one second before they run out of breathe, they would flash back their life and their soul tortured, as they would feel the life they lived is a complete vain."
"We would too. More or less. Everyone would feel that when he dies."
“Yeah, you're right." I was a bit frustrated, fiddling around with the left olives in my plate, trying to accept the unfair reality.
The waiter came to place the wine Alex had ordered in front of him. He sipped the wine, and a look appeared on his face as if it reminded him of something enlightening. He smiled and withdrew the ambience he had created for our little game, "But we don’t give a shit. We love each other. Fuck them."
"Yeah, fuck them. Fuck everyone."
We both felt some sort of alliance and deceived ourselves for another night’s victory.
