We swagger in black, congregate, and lament over noodles coated in a syrupy black sauce that is obviously meant to resemble the inner workings of the single person’s heart. Because why else would you be single unless your heart pumps tar?
It’s late July, the stagnant air reeks of hot, decomposing garbage and streets are dotted with rat filled cages. A child can be seen defecating next to a stall selling steamed buns. The buns are cheap so I buy enough