The Tissue Lady

We were at Da Lian this morning. We both ordered mee kia dry and were waiting for our orders to come, you sipping your kopi-si-kosong and me my teh-si.

I was wondering aloud why the tissue lady was nowhere in sight. You replied that perhaps it was because she was sleeping late. "I don't remember seeing her the last few times we were here," I said as our noodles were being served.

As I was eating the piece of tur kwa in my mee kia dry, out of the corner of my eyes, I saw that the tissue lady has arrived.

A great bag of packet tissues was slung on her left arm as she strode towards Da Lian. The rising fumes from the lighted cigarette in her right hand mirrored her mass of grey, unkempt swirling hair.

She threw a few packets of her wares on our table and pointed to the fifty cent coin beside your wallet, the change you obtained paying for our kopi-si-kosong and teh-si.

Simultaneously, we both refused, telling her to retrieve her packet tissues.

"Fifty cents would have been enough to buy a stick of cigarette," you said.

"Really?" As a non-smoker, this was new information to me. I had always thought that the cost was nearer to a dollar.

"If she buys one of the cheaper brands," you explained.