It’s a big one, a three-locomotive beast, but Chad didn’t want some Amtrak commuter for his first haul anyway. His rope is strong; his cleats are clean. He is unafraid.
It chugs into view with a mighty whistle-blast, and Chad spins out his lariat. “WHEEE-LAH!” he whoops, feeling it catch, setting his feet wide and preparing for the contest.
A hundred yards later, he decides it’s over. He releases the rope and spits out a mouthful of turf before standing, shakily, to inspect his scraped and battered body.
Okay, he thinks. But nobody said train wrangling was going to be easy!
Phillip’s finally got them all eating with chopsticks. Well, almost all.
“So Phil, you’re Taiwanese,” says Toe, filling his mouth with danzi.
“First-generation,” replies Phillip.
“How come”–Toe swallows–“you’re a Chinese Studies major?”
“Well, those aren’t the only classes I take,” he replies. “But yeah, that’s my focus, because Chinese history matters to Taiwan right now. Most Americans try pretty hard to ignore the situation.”
“But Daniel’s Chinese, and he doesn’t even speak the language. Either of them.”
Daniel grins. He’s using a fork. “My family’s Chinese. I’m American, man. The rest of the world can eat fruit and cake.”