I was at a little soirée at Simplicity. the new crêpe place on Wyndham right by LKF Hotel. They’re open until 4-5am, so there’s one more late-night post-clubbing eating place now apart from the standard noodles and veggies at Tsui Wah, binge-breakfast at Flying Pan, and glorious I-don’t-give-a-shit-about-my-waistline poutine at Cul-de-Sac.
I was talking to a fine person of color from New York outside Simplicity, and some passing young Brits, impressed by such an imposing African-American physique, stopped and complimented: “Oi mate, check out your pecs! Man. They’re the size of my head!” (or some other ridic comparison I didn’t bother to commit to memory).
“Where are yew from?” the bloke said.
“New York,” the brother replied.
“Mate, I’ve got a cousin in New York, an’ when ‘e told me about 7-11, I cried! I don’t really know anybody from New York, but I cried!”
I was impressed with this drunken young man’s demonstration of empathy, but I had absolutely NO idea WTF he was blabbing on about.