Post-Russia
I left the capitol of Russia for the capitol of the US. I met Yang in Arlington, VA, a residential part of DC immediately across the river in Maryland. Arlington is full of well-paid lawyers, bureacrats, and other white collar businessmen. Come 6 O'clock, these businessmen strip out of their white collars and change into khaki or plaid shorts, polo shirts, and sometimes, baseball caps. Per capita, it is the highest educated and wealthiest town in America. It might also be the most preppy per capita. Yang picked me up in his BMW and we went for Pho. The server came up to him, and guessed his order. I hadn't had enough time to decide yet, so I doubled it. Within minutes, I had a hot bowl of noodles, sprouts, soft tendon and pork belly tripe. Yang wasn't interested in my trip. He didn't really care to hear any of my recent adventures. He talked about his life-- business, luxury, and weekend binge drinking as I chewed on my tripe. The soft meats melted in my mouth. You barely had to chew them.
Back at his ritzy highrise, Yang turned on the flatscreen, some house music, and we cracked beers-- Yuenglings. Yuengling is the beer of choice for East Coast professionals, the perfect ending to a tough day in the office. The fridge was also stocked with Milwaukies' Best, remnants of fraternal college days. I took of my shoes. "PUT SHOES YOURS SHOES BACK ON!" he screamed over the incessant beat of DeadMau5. Yang insisted that I shower. He didn't want my stinking, travel-worn body polluting his couch.
After I showered, we went down to the ground floor of the apartment complex to play pool. We persisted in not talking.
Shawn has a fear of riding on planes. He descibes
Shawn: “Control, control, control”
The jobs to the punjabs
Yang and materialism, including the soft tendon
Back at his ritzy highrise, Yang turned on the flatscreen, some house music, and we cracked beers-- Yuenglings. Yuengling is the beer of choice for East Coast professionals, the perfect ending to a tough day in the office. The fridge was also stocked with Milwaukies' Best, remnants of fraternal college days. I took of my shoes. "PUT SHOES YOURS SHOES BACK ON!" he screamed over the incessant beat of DeadMau5. Yang insisted that I shower. He didn't want my stinking, travel-worn body polluting his couch.
After I showered, we went down to the ground floor of the apartment complex to play pool. We persisted in not talking.
Shawn has a fear of riding on planes. He descibes
Shawn: “Control, control, control”
The jobs to the punjabs
Yang and materialism, including the soft tendon