Okay, all-time best burger for myself? For special occasions and when all is forgiven? (Take notes, Honey!).
It’s all about the beef. 1/4 lb. at least (and I have a lot of toppings to go on top — it’s all about sauces and toppings here).
> A whole wheat bagel — toasted (or everything bagel or brioche!);
> With melted butter and mayo (or definitely an herb aioli);
> 2 strips of bacon (gotta be crispy, no wimpy soft bacon);
> Avocado & rocket (I love the taste of my vegetables);
> NO tomato (makes it all too watery);
> NO bell peppers (not the…
I used to own an HTC that looked like the old Blackberry — my all time favorite phone of the past before all the keyboard-less smartphones. On it was a photo I had snapped of a local who was sitting at a coffee shop on a tall stool but his rather rotund body particularly his bottom put him in a rather compromising position unbeknownst to himself. It didn’t help that he was so high up because of the stool with his jeans without enough fabric to cover his revealing behind — literally his butt cheeks were out! …
When visiting a foreign country which might generally have less public safety regulations than your home country, you might not likely have the same experience as a local because of increased regulations to meet international standards at frequented tourist locations. But by contrast, if you begin to live and not only just visit that same foreign country, you quickly recognize a stark contrast of the difference in what feels “normal” for your own personal safety in just the every day normal activities as walking down a local public street.
In Hong Kong, space is tight, so it might be normal…
A short middle-aged Filipino woman with big white headphones and sweat shorts and a hooded zip-up, speaking in English in a thick accent was airing out some kind of grievance towards 3 police officers, the youngest one with his hands folded across his chest and neck protruding out towards her, his eyes rolling, in defiance. …
I ’d say I’m an athletic pedestrian. I walk with strong quick strides and like to get my heart rate up but without sweating. I time myself, beating crosswalks just before they turn red, playing little games of mapping quickest maneuvering paths ahead in my head, but all the while watching for any reckless drivers. If I can’t be sure my move will be 100% safe, I don’t take the risk. I’m not dangerous.
Well, sometimes there are weird intersections of multiple curving streets that create a mega-intersection that has multiple crosswalks in even the one general direction you want…
I knew there was hope when
fractured folds of his fragile young heart
creased into a small smile that sparked
some chatter instead of his pained
quiet stare from crushed childhood.
But the moment passed, his family
droned over him & none became the wiser.
This was originally published on Twitter, you can like it, here.
Here is a related poem you might like:
And other stories:
Copyright © 2021
Élan-Writer. All rights reserved.
Do you see me
stare and caress,
sip — no, slurp —
with your curled
smile, your being?
won’t watch me
the heart of my
can’t swallow —
Beholden, by you.
This was originally published on Twitter. Feel free to like it, here. The original intent of the 3rd line, ‘sip — no, slurp’, is exactly as it is punctuated here, but imagine without that comma what it would actually mean. …
Let me put it this way
that way it lets put you
put us it me let be
be it let our mood put
put our mood it carries
carrying it o’er way more
more ways that it lifts us
up into the space dust
it can dust the doubt crust
crush the barrier of self-thought
no need for the green lights
light the way you need flight!
This was published on Twitter originally. Due to the 240 character limit inclusive of the prompt line number and labels, etc., the Twitter version looks quite different. I still like the original…
He tells her, ‘You’re wonderful,’…
but despises her music, her timing, her rhythm.
He tells her, ‘You make me laugh,’…
but puts her down, destroys her confidence, makes her cry.
He tells her, ‘You make me happy,’…
but excuses himself — ‘I’m unromantic’ — for her giftless birthday,
every year —
the harsh sun sweats shirtless breasts,
burning unshielded in toil; her face determined
yearning to yield a good harvest even if seeds are fallow &
the ground recoils away — it disappoints;
her dried tears temporarily relieve the cracks & crevices
in skin & soul.
She hears him say…
Writer, born adventurer, intuitive introvert, creative and admirer of art | There’s always way more to the story, so read on…