Before Family Dinner Time, I meet him,
this High Roller of Hong Kong’s Happy Hour.
He calls Mong Kok “touristy,” clinks his glass
against mine. I’ll take you to nice places
right after we visit your grandma’s stand.
My cousins could use some pajamas.
Is this the 21st century romance of
seeing your man once a year, then swiping right
the rest of the time just to keep busy?
He’s about to follow me—drunken jabber
of the high roller, to the bathroom.
Am I not family? he whispers,
Is this going to be our love story?
I hit his nose when I shut the door.
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