TAIWAN BEER-HOUSE WOKED CLAMS
[ezcol_1fifth] [/ezcol_1fifth] [ezcol_3fifth] IT WAS A CRADLE FOR UNDERAGE DRINKING AND SECOND-HAND SMOKE, AND WE LOVED IT LIKE MOTHER'S MILK [/ezcol_3fifth] [ezcol_1fifth_end] [/ezcol_1fifth_end] [ezcol_1half][/ezcol_1half] [ezcol_1half_end][/ezcol_1half_end] [ezcol_1half] TONIGHT is an event. I hear my parents, hastening by the front door, as I ready myself in my yellow-painted bedroom. There is festivity and jittering even in the motion of putting on my flower-printed socks. Somebody barges in and forces an extra jacket over my reluctant shoulder, my sweater itches, and my brother, as usual, looks as unapproachable as yesterday. But none of that dampens my excitement, because like I said, something big is going on tonight. I ride in a car pierced with noises which I realize later, are probably all of my own, but playing a game of fantasy Galaga with the blinking tail-lights from the front cars, is the only peaceful diplomatic relation I have with my temperamentally unpredictable sibling, which as usual, ends unfavourably for me shortly before destination
