$T != m

In china they still have milkmen. He comes by at different times between... well he just came, and five am. I think his clinyness is what woke up the damn nightly screaming babies. Anyway the strange thing about the chinese milkmen... or rather, the milk that they deliver, it's in the tiniest little fucking bottles. I swear you'd need five of these things to fill a pint. And it's not that the stuff is expensive. Though I suppose 1 yuan or whatever it is per jar is actually a bad deal when you add it up comparing to buying quarts for 4 something or 7 or whatever it is. Something like that. Anyway, it's odd. And alot of work to put into such a small result. But I guess work is like candy corns at halloween.
The demolition team that took down the block near my house (by the bridge across the "creek") seemed to spend most of their time making sure not to damage the bricks, taking them one by one and cleaning and separating them from each other, hacking off the mortar with a small machette, squating all day long and smoking their cheap foul filth cigarrets. Next they used the same construction materials from the demolished building to build a new one in the same spot.
What was particularly funny was the "massage parlor" that was the last thing on the block to go, ever eminating it's pink light at the end of the dark demolished street. One day there were women's silhouettes standing in the doorway and a warm inviting glow amidst an entire street of rubble, the next the roof and front were bashed in and a dirty worker through things out from inside the collapsed den as if looting an already pillaged warzone, scavenging for left overs. ...old bricks?

One thing to be sure about China: Time certainly does not equal money.