This time Josephine was havin' a different sort of party... " Well ya comin' or what?" she asked.. "Yeah girl"..Sandra replied. "Its a party, what you think?" "Oh HeLL No Reggie, ain't comin'." Stated Joe, Flatly.
Reggie was her past Ex. Joe was always doting over and made mild references to him and his abuse to her on many occasions. Stepin' in to Joe's house, there was no place to sit. At least ONE Asian sat in One corner of every place in the room, with either their husband or latest BEAU. And now that they were adults, "late twenties" it was their turn to chill out and commemorate and sit at awkward parties:gossipin', playin' BEER Pong, playing naughty card games, in a way that if you were a kid, You were S. O. L.
You had no idea what the adults were describing Lode body parts in a TABOO fashion, so that immature ears couldn't find out. Asians sat every where, though, that day. On the floor, legs sprawled out. On each other's laps, folding chairs, next to the party's card table, food area.
The food's main course: dried, flattened, beef, grilled on the George Foreman-plug-in-grill, in the kitchen. Not on a platter, did the cooked beef finally sit, but on tin foil, on the card table, so it could dry out. Big slabs, the size of your forearm. Joe smiled, a big toothy smile, all the while searching for styrofoam trays, the type they gave you on flight meals.
"White Rice is on the cooker, still..." she said. "Go and grab some!".
In the middle of the table, sat curry sauces, tortillas, HOT green sauce with avocado, and Shrimp, vegetable kabobs on wooden, thin sticks.
"Great", Sandra thought. I could use some beans and corn bread to extend this HALF ASIAN, HALF MEXICAN meal. But this will do. She grabbed her tray and built herself a platter., making casual conversation with some of Joe's friends.
Sasha chuckled to herself. And she meant it. On the train, it was silent as hell. She had to liven' it up, by discussing her plans with Kamila who was dressed in a similar get-up. A black dress and black pumps, and only a small, black purse for which reached in at that moment and grabbed her lip gloss. Buying a lip gloss here, was dangerous pursuit as they were often larger then the span of your wrist to your middle finger, easily mistaken for a vibrator. And all the more reason for Kamila to take it out and apply it to her lips with a big ole' SMACK. Everything they did, these days, seemed to be done with exaggeration, as they were always off in their own world in London., the two Americans. Everything they did: fresh and new, and individual. A french, African made eye contact and began to speak in french to her in rapid tones, mistaken Kamila for a french, American Ambassador. Kamilia just blushed a smiled back, saying Je m'appelle Kamilia Je m'appelle and eyed him for a second, and sharp, black coat againt gray tight jeans.