I am writing this post as I peel super glue off of my fingers. I bought the super glue to fix one of my cuff links. I bought the cuff links to match the bow ties that I have worn daily until the weather recently reached too uncomfortably high of a temperature and too dense of a barometric pressure--sweet sweet humidity. I even bought a set of cuff links to match the "Chinese-lucky-red" bow tie that I bought to match the lining of my custom made black suit which I wore to see Hilary Hahn and the English Chamber Orchestra at the Shenzhen Concert Hall.
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A few weeks ago, several friends and I motorbiked our way up one of the local mountains. At the peak, we casually ambled through a Buddhist temple that was adorned with bright pink Japanese maples and mist machines enshrouding a network of small canals that provided shelter for hundreds of turtles. Beyond the peak's fifty-foot-tall golden Buddha, an expansive valley stretched into the hazy distance of factory smog originating beyond the far-side-of-the-valley's mountains. A small locomotive (in the fashion of a Wild West coal train) chugged around the peaks' sides and stopped at a water park on a lake, at a garden with millions of flowers categorized by color and not species, at a golf course that climbed the side of a mountain (seems like a difficult obstacle), and at a few stations in a village of alpine-looking buildings constituting a secret neighborhood called "Interlaken."
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