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| I'd be shellfish to eat all of this. |
Which makes it that much more fun when I find myself seated alone in a half-empty restaurant that suddenly fills up for the midday rush. The menu is a choose-your-own-adventure of what-will-this-be to an English speaker.
A woman then tucks in to the seat across from me and casts her eyes to the side as I tackle my bowl of noodles. Likely improperly. The gulf between us is greater than just Formica. Perhaps it’s caused by the chillies I added, which not only added flavour, but drained my sinuses.
Regardless, the cuttlefish balls, shrimp dumplings and noodles in broth hit the spot after walking around all morning.
Leaving the restaurant, the skies again cave in, leaving vendors tucked under bridges used as umbrellas while unpacking newspapers. LEGO constructions of cardboard boxes, meanwhile, appear on every corner; it seems Monday is re-stocking day.
Women wrapped in trash bags push stick brooms, scratching at the sidewalk; others drag carts to collect garbage and recycling. If nothing else, the city is clean.
As they bustle to work, men and women alike daintily hold thin cigarettes and give them feminine puffs. In the market, fish flop in styrofoam boxes, orchids bloom in great volume and brightly lit produce is haggled for and bundled. The skies clear anew.
Five spice hangs in the air.
Just another day in Hong Kong.
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