Wherever you go, there you are.

Today, after escorting a 68 year old woman (who happened upon us at the Tansig Hotel during Monglish club and who I am still pretty concerned about–how did she get out here? What is she doing? Where did she get that Lonely Planet Guide from 2008 and why is she following it? More on her later.) to a room we found for her at the government building, and after having a few beers with the girls from the Tourism Office, and after being accosted by a couple of drunk countryside men, and after buying a loaf of bread I finally managed to wrench myself free n’ homewards.
What do I hear as I pass Star Nightclub, as I skirt around the wet tar laid down by the Chinese construction workers who are repaving Temuulel road for the 3rd time since I’ve been here, but THIS:

Now mind you, the last time I was involuntarily alerted to this song I was hightailing it down Spring street, crossing Wooster on my way to work a Champagne and Oyster event at the fancy damn chocolate shop where I worked, (Also I may have been wearing THE SAME DRESS I AM NOW (that would be the black long-sleever with the pockets and the bleach stain in the back that I bought at Chico’s with my mom but don’t tell anyone) ) when suddenly a different breed of construction worker poked his head out of the loading dock he was constructing in and shouted “DAMN BABY THAT’S MY JAM.”
So there’s that.
It may also interest you to know that in Mongolia, as well as New York, drunk people do the same earnestly purposeful “IMA GOIN’ HOME” walk. It sure interests me.


2 thoughts on “Wherever you go, there you are.

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