Zhili is an electrical engineer. He
wears all black because his eyes don’t see color, they see the mini resistors
that are in your neurons, and the capacitor in your iPhone camera flash. He
wants to engineer the next Tesla coil. To make something out of nothing; power
out of air, out of the charged particles in the human skin, in the fall leaves,
in the blue sky. Zhili’s name means knowledge and power. That’s what
electricity is to him—the most melodious intersection of knowledge and power.
He chases down the electric as much as he can. Skydiving, making love, cocaine
highs. Zhili looks unassuming at best, and fobby at worst. But his blood
pulsates with the synchrony of electrons and protons and an abosofuckinglutely
thirst for that intersection. One day, Zhili will be a household name. Actually
Zhili happens to the name of the street intersection that housed the hospital
he was born in. His mother was sadly uncreative, unlike her highly functioning
son. Anyways back to the love-making and cocaine.
Zhili is a prolific yet jaded
lover. After all, the first lesson in electrical engineering is opposites
attract. It seems like Zhili just can’t find the right broad. Or maybe its
because he thinks of them as broads. What kind of lover is Zhili anyways? Who
even calls women “broads” anymore? Shame on you, Zhili. He has to date, wined
and dined 47 different individuals, of 22 different nationalities, 15 different
languages (4 of them ethnic dialects of the New Zealand coast), and 2 of the
…male persuasion?
