At 10 o'clock, I wandered out of my shoe box to try to find some dinner. I jumped onto the elevator as the sole passenger. A few floors down, a linebacker of an Indian woman walked onto the elevator as well. She was clad in her colorful throw-over and lengthy dress. She gazed at me with her large dark eyes, then her mustache crinkled like a tsunami as she gave me her seductive smile. "You like massage." she whispered to me in such a way to ensure her husband or friends did not hear her offering such service. I politely refused her offer, and as I would pass her multiple times on the street, as she sat out front of the building with her friends who were all dressed similarly, we usually shared a knowing look.
As I turned the corner, my favorite meat and rice place was still open. Only recognizable by its class windows filled with hanging meats and the constant steam rising from the counters and a steady in-and-out flow of customers to taste the flavors of won ton noodles or meat, which arrive at your table immediately after order and never fails to please.
The middle part of the story is something that I do not really want to post here, but I have posted it on my Lulu site. It is short and not especially entertaining, but maybe worth a look. Lulu charges 19 cents for the download, I charge 11 cents just to make sure that you are choosing to read it. Here is a link.
I walked into the 7-11 to buy some water to drink in my room, and it was filled with Africans and a few Hong Kong folks drinking and smoking up a storm. Not just drinking beer, they had purchased bottles of spirits and were pouring them into cups and making mixed drinks as well. Essentially, this 7-11 had been turned into a cheap bar by the people of the area, and it was the type of bar that you did not want to mess around in, less ye fear not an ass-kicking. It was this 7-11 bar that nearly 2 years before, as I entered with a Korean girl I had met on the Star Ferry, had felt so threatening at night on my first trip to Hong Kong. The Korean girl had been approached by one of the African men, he was claiming how he must see her tomorrow and how she had to meet him, all the time trying to put his hands on her. As I came out, and he noticed that she was waiting for me, they turned their advances towards me. "Where are you from?" He asked in an aggressive and threatening tone.
"Canada." I lied like a twat, hoping to avoid any "Fuck America" sentiment.
"So you speak French, I also speak French, but my French is better than yours." He expressed his dislike of me with his tone.
"No, I do not speak French!" And we walked away.
But those days had long passed, and I was familiar with what the situation is like in the TST and was not surprised at all by this. I only felt sorry for the cashiers in the store, for they had to deal with this folks everyday, and probably do not get compensated for their troubles.
The time had slipped past 12, and thus I had to sign in with the building guards as I entered. I had to weave my way through the empty halls to the elevators that continued to run at this hour. The elevator creaked and squeaked all the way up to the 15th floor. As the doors opened to my destination, I stepped out and immediately felt a chill run through my spine. It was once again silent, but now it was late and dark to boot. I walked around the corner, hitting the straight hall to my guest house door. In front of the door stood a shirtless Arab man with a towel wrapped around his waste facing the door. As I drew closer, he turned to face me and then scurried like a scared cockroach back into the door directly to the left of the guest house. As I got to where I could see the door, I could see him still watching me, as though he were threatened, a scared cat. His head was shaved bald but he had month long stubble covering his thin, elongated chin. He hid safely behind his own metallic barrier door and watched to see what I was doing. as I drew nearly parallel to him, making it impossible to see me from inside, he opened his door a bit and poked out his head, and there I could get a look at his Gollum-esc eyes staring at me, not with curiosity, but more as a stalker, waiting for the opportunity to pounce. The nervousness that his stare created in me was coupled with the door not being easy to open, so after a few tries I finally got into the metallic barrier door. I could not be more relieved to have gotten in safely with that man outside. His actions were those of a mentally challenged or straight up crazy person. I was not fearful of this vampire, but felt certain that single woman should be, for he gave me the aura of a rapist without knowing it would be wrong.
Here is a picture of his door in relation to the guest house door.
The next morning, I took a Cebu Pacific Airlines flight to Manila, total roundtrip fare was 1,800 Hong Kong dollars. The trip had really just started.