Whining and Dining

All the ingredients were there for a romantic dinner: We were away from Shanghai, finally relaxing after a hellish work week, there was a good bottle of wine, great food, an almost in-key jazz vocalist, and of course a candle.
Oh, and a guy sitting behind Phil's shoulder hoiking up phlegm chunks the size of small meteors, complete with extended palatal vocalisation, and spitting them from a height into the ashtray on his table.
Nothing says romance more than the public sharing of respiratory fluids.