The story about a cat 2

Anyway, let’s call her Maome, no reason.

“You want to take a walk?” Maome asked.
Cool, I like walk.
“Sure, why not.”

We walked toward south not knowing where we were going.
“So where is your home?”
I tried to give her a precise answer and explanation. I used to live around my school, but it’s not my home. Now I stay in a cheap apartment in Queens, but it’s not my home either.
“I think I belong nowhere.”

New York City is a good place to take a walk. Don’t try to dispute with me. Admit it, with all kind of noise, dirty pavement, smelly air, rude people, bums, taxi and truck, New York City gives you the most surprising street adventures. Don’t you think it’s amazing when you see a chair just right in the middle of the road?

“I understand.” Maome said.
“I am not sure where I am from and what I’ve missed. But this problem is not even a problem. As a cat, I have to accept my destiny and to give way to human being. Whatsoever, I am free.” She sounded like insecure for a very short bit.
I sighed.
“Don’t sigh. You are losing your fortune.” Maome said.

Walking in the city you need to be careful. You must know how to decode information. Countless messages have been trying to be sent to you every second. Basically, you are in a nonstop process of brainwashing everyday till you are buried.

I am all lost in the supermarket.
I can no longer shop happily.
I came in here for the special offer.
A guaranteed personality.

I was singing The Clash.

We stopped at Union Square, one of the most dynamic place in the city.
One guy was making a speech against Bush and Iraq War while I was lighting one Camel Light. Another one leaning on the kiosk was trying to persuade people how good socialism is. A group of teenagers was playing skateboards and one apparently threw an early celebration for Halloween wearing Buddha and Jesus mix and match.

We played Bingo in the class.
While the professor was talking about how to transfer the data into 3-dimentions information database to storage intelligence for tapping out consumer behaviors which is able to utilize the technology to analyze the market, we were playing Bingo under the table.
However, instead of numbers, we used people’s names.
Participation is a critical part of our grades. Through this system, you can observe different types of people and understand human being’s inherent competitiveness and laziness.
So the game was simple. You put any classmates’ names in the matrix and crossed them out when they said something, usually bullshit.
Of course there was strategy in this game. It depended on how you knew your classmates well and what everyone’s concentration was. There was one guy who talked in every course. His name was always reserved for the center spot in everyone’s playbook.

“What do you want to eat for dinner?” I asked.
“I don’t eat fish.” Maome answered as if nothing was truer than this.
“What?” I want to make sure I didn’t hear wrong.
“I don’t eat seafood.”
“What?” I became a little surprised.
“I say I don’t eat anything from the sea.”

I began to like her.

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Ice cone

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Street Worker

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Reality Life

This is a marketing/promotion for a off-off-Broadway show.

On the pedestrian island at Union Square, this actress acted like she actually lives on it. She had a bed, a table, a mirror, and all clothing and all girl stuff.

Free Hug

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Sun tan

The story about a cat 1

(I wrote this one year ago, but never finished it.)

I met a cat, in a hot day.

The air was stagnant and unfriendly. Walking in the street just as I am struggling to save myself from a swamp. I was standing on the corner of 7th Avenue and 38th Street. It was two o'clock in the afternoon and I was overwhelmed by honks, groups of visitors, businessmen, and all kinds of designers and models. I thought I was lost.

While I was trying to dodge bubbles spurted by a hand bubble gun, “what are you looking for?" I thought someone talking to me. I looked around and apparently no one even wanted to pay attention to me.
“Hey, I am talking to you.”
A cat was staring at me, just in front of Starbucks.

Yeah, a cat. Not a hot chick, not a taxi driver who has been cursing, not a part-timer always standing on this corner passing sample sale flyers.

A cat.

“Well, I am looking for my home” I answered.

She had a pretty body, neat claws, and groomed red hair. I looked at her and I noticed her eyes. The pair of eyes hid contradiction and self-consciousness. They were confident and seductive, hostile and defensive, weak and lonely.
“How about you? What are you looking for?” I asked.
“I am not sure what I am seeking, I think I lost some of my feelings but I don’t know what it is.” She answered.
“Are you trying to figure it out?”
“No. I just want to enjoy my life.”

Suddenly I remembered I have to make a phone call.

I began to dial by my cell phone. I didn’t move because I wanted to keep this conversation.
“Hello?” Someone answered.
“Hi.” I said.
“It’s you? Why do you call me?”
“(Screw you, bitch. I was thinking.) I think you are not in a good mood. And, you know, just want to know anything I can help.”
“Let’s talk next time.”
“By…” She hung up before I finished.

The cat was still there.
“Hi, I am…” She told me her name.

I don’t remember. What’s her name? How can I forget? I don’t even have to know when I met her.
But it doesn’t matter.
You must know cat this kind of creature. You never enter her heart, no matter how long you’ve known her.

Simpson and Fashion

Source: Popsugar

I am not a fan of Simpson, but this is really cool.

In Harper's Bazaar's latest issue, Simpson family get into fashion world.

Check out Karl Lagerfield on Chanel.

Nature

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