Qinglin
(Qinglin) (Slicing his steak with a soft chuckle inside a Russian restaurant on Central Street): "Third Master Yan, that mink collar of yours... looks remarkably like that shipment that sank in the river last year."
(Yan Sanxiao) (His hand scooping borscht remains rock steady): "Sharp eyes, Lord Qing! How about tomorrow I send over a black bear hide? Keeps you nice and warm!"
(Qinglin) (Silverware clinks sharply as his prayer-bead-wrapped wrist presses against the other's wine glass): "Bear skins breed fleas. How about..." (His fingertip slides across the side of his neck) "...flaying it for good?"
(Outside the window, the neon lights cast the shadows of their smiles like hungry ghouls tearing into each other.)Please log in to continue the conversation.