The Eye Magazine | 11/03/2011
“Are you Chinese?”
I’ve heard a lot of pick-up lines tonight, but none quite so direct. I turn around to get a view of the guy who interrupted my interview to ask my subject his question. He looks like he came straight off of an Apprentice taping: early 40s, posh jacket with loosened tie, Brooklyn accent, a reek of Bacardi and sweat. I consider hiding my handheld recorder, but then I realize he doesn’t seem to notice my presence. He leans in toward the girl, even though she can hear him over the blaring reggaeton music permeating the club.
Lucky for him, she laughs.
“What do I look like?” She’s 19, smiles a lot, and wears a skin-tight blue dress with cutouts on the sides.
Turns out she is Chinese.
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