It's colder today. I borrowed Ariel's grey sweater with thin, Lifesaver™ candy stripes and treked, a little late, to work. Outside of the Dongzhimen line 13 subway station a gaggle of grandmas were fan dancing in chaotic rhythm to the sound of crackling speakers. Because of the morning rush, there are always street vendors selling onion pancakes, plain steamed buns and boiled soymilk. After electromagnetic fare machines, tight spaces, halitosis, one episode of This American Life and eleven stops, I'm at work.
I'm writing. Subjects like indian casinos, conversations between co-workers, yard sales, Alaska and Hawaii, fabricated restaurant conversations, the history of LA (for a few students traveling there), geography, the Chinese in America, pot lucks, old cultural fads like paint-by-numbers, photo booth pictures, state parks, Wiki-fueled briefs on the American judicial system, immigration, small religious groups, etc. (All in the name of learning English, of course.)