Damn, a self-condemned cultural Janus year 4 now in this cowboy town of faux sophisticates, weekend nights now drowned in Blue Label and Xanax, the itch to converse with slinky sloe-eyed sylphs with a little culture and thought is overwhelming the gan-bei reflex, the knuckle high-fives and declarations of brotherhood. But we ramble and rumble through the fog of hazish renminbi. I'm a wanderer threaded through Malaysia, Singapore, Hong Kong, Canada, L.A., Beijing and now Shanghai. Vain beyond the limitations of my waistline and a style and form when the occasion demands, though Y-3 when I can get away with it. In search of the intellectual it-girl adequately slutty on demand, but of course, so's everyone else.
Munch on the Bund, Dom 90 or maybe 96, Pichon Lalande, after a satisfactory day of real achievement, listening to refreshing or even challenging counterpoints and earnest viewpoints. Bling bling my way through Baobeilian or Guandii to rendezvous with the brothers and their it-girls.
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