You there. Yes, you. The meathead in the ugly brown felt hat
and the stupid fat cigar. Who do you think you are? I can tell from your narrow
piggy eyes and your oily smile that you are an ill-bred, low-class Swatow
merchant made rich through a shady deal or two. I can tell from your shifty,
fidgety stance that your wife thinks you’re having drinks with your colleagues.
You think I’m a worthless wunv 舞女 in a faux-glam dance
hall, but my qipao is worth more than your non-existent morality and your lame
pick-up lines. Yes, yes, tap your head to the meihua 梅花 jazz. Order another Whiskey Smash. Pretend this is all part of your world,
scumface. I’ll go along with it and let you rest your hand on my silky thigh.
But if you dare give me half a silver dollar less, I will drive my stiletto
through your balls when you’re asleep. [Loo Ching Ling 吕晶琳]