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Chinta: not a review


I woke up crestfallen from yesterdays mood; which is a slight ache-y one. The kind that happens over and over again, you'd mistake the new physicals as a new circumstance. Regardless, physics is my favourite science. I am always dreading though. Waking up with society on my present. The kind of society I love. I plan yesterday for today's walk. But I did not plan for my food. The love gives me steer, to find nutriment. So, I get up to go. The restaurant I found through the screen, I saved a note from TikTok Places to go nearby LRTs. This time I chose Bangsar. Chinta, 160m away from LRT. Okay, set up and go. 

At the bus stop there is a sense in the traffic, the sudden traffic jam calls out to me. 5 minutes turned to 15 minutes. Again, this is not the restaurant's review. Chop Suey's on my head, and Swans' White Light's album... the music is kind of feverish, so I turn to Jazz. 

As I reached Bangsar, the sun is setting like a nap, kind and soft through the screen atop the LRT on the way to the egress of the office-like amenities. A person stops me to ask for money. He needed food. I can see solemn in his eyes. I pity him. He looks the kind of tired, no rest can fix. A lady came over and gave him some bread. We discussed where he can find a home. The lady needed to go, she has a kind time, a kind action, that kindness. I stayed for a bit, asked him of his life. Many a times, he's just tired. It's been 4 months. 

On the way to Chinta, the walk is not familiar, I am just like everybody else. It's the time where the walkers with lanyards and patter talks to go around and find food. So I look over to the right over many roofs, C for chopstick (another restaurant). C for Chinta. The lane is the dictionary section in C? It says Chinta on the tiny hanging blackboard, but it is Cinta, tiny font, on the head of the face. 

I push the door, I enter and its a whole world of organized glamour. Wafted Feng Shui I intuited from initializing the whole shebang. I sat down where the sun cascades the marble table. It's a table for 2. Orange warm lights, of kampung tiles, theyre like plastered colours. It does not reflect the price however. The price is the city's stab.

This is not a restaurant review. People here are important. Encoded in their lanyards and their gray hair strands, with their fancy demeanors. Talking about mother in laws, within the songs of malay weddings. It's a still time fancy malay house, of a wedding, with bureaucratic synonimical people. Who knows. I got my Johor noodles. Its like a pillow, but scalding hot first. I never understood why food scalding hot to eat. I can't taste anything but irritating pain. But after a while, I get full and theres still content served, like a proper paragraph. So its filling very, like a good pillow for a nap. It taste mediocre, because the taste is just as. I really cant say. This is not a restaurant review. It has a lot, it gives a lot, but the salt is somewhere else, maybe dreaming. The coffee is just as. It's a daydream meal of an okay.

Anyhow, theyre all wiping the restaurant, the waiters, dust is a furniture.

On the way back, I was stopped by two people. and I had a slap of a fever, like an overheated laptop. 

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