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Late night.
It was midnight when we came downstairs. The innkeeper was on her stool behind the counter and watching TV dramas. She muted the volume and set the Pomeranian she was carrying on the floor when she saw us. “Have you guys had dinner yet?” she said.
“Not yet, we were tired and overslept. So we’re going out now,” Anne said.
“You guys are eating so late.”she said. She had a cheeky grin on her face.
I had already gone outside the put my shoes on.
“Are you guys going to close and lock the front door soon?” Anne said.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m just wondering what’s open at this time. You can try the dumpling shop. I think I overheard my husband telling you about it earlier. It’s open until one.”
“We’ll probably go there then.”
The innkeeper scooped the dog up and returned to the TV. She waved at us as Anne joined me on the porch.
“Did you see her face? She was smiling the entire time.”
“I noticed.”
“God, it’s so embarrassing. My hair’s a complete mess. I don’t want to imagine what she thinks about us now..”
"Who cares." I smoothed the stray strands at the back of her head and didn’t mention that her eyes were glazed and red.
“Hey…public.”
The woman was watching us from inside the inn.
“It’s a hostel in a resort town. Couples come here. What do to they expect?” I said.
“It doesn’t matter. It’s awkward. They’re so…nice. I feel like I’m staying they’re my cousins here.”
“Well, it seems she enjoys being around the young love.”
“Argh…you…”
She zipped my jacket up, button the top flap, and looped her arm through mind. “What do you usually do when you’re walking like this,” she asked.
“I put my hands in my pocket if I’m wearing a jacket or coat. It feels more natural this way. Otherwise, I’d feel like I’m walking you into a ballroom.”
“Really?”
“This entire island is a ballroom.”
“Eh…whatever.”
She carried the tom boy look naturally. I thought of the TV dramas: if I was on the school baseball team and she was the manager, I’d undoubtedly fall in love.
We passed by a local bar on the way. Bright neon lights hung above the door and around the window. I could see a few of the people sitting at the bar counter.
“We should get a drink later,” I said.
“Here?”
“Why not?”
“It’s probably full of middle aged men who look like my dad. Do you really want to take me to this kind of place.”
“Hmm. I guess not.”
All I wanted was to just go to a bar together. We had talked about drinking often. Now, physically in the same place, it was always me who drank as she watched.
“It’s too weird,” she said.
“You know what they call it back home? Slumming.”
“And what’s that?”
“When outsiders like us go to local bars like this and pretend we belong.”
The crowd at the dumpling restaurant was in full effect. Women with maroon aprons and handkerchiefs tied over their hair were working an assembly line of dough, pork stuffing, soup, and steaming. It was quite a sight; we were in the presence of masters at work.
We found a seat against the wall. Even at this late hour, there were plenty of people out. I thought about the afternoon before we got to the that food vendor block. Where did they all go during the daytime?
“How many do you want to get?” Anne said.
“I don’t know. What do they sell them in?”
“You can have 20. You can have 40. Or you can have 60.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“20 then.”
“Why’s it all so cheap?” I had no problems with reading numbers.
“Local places are like this.”
I returned to the fantasy I had earlier about living together and opening up a hostel of our own in some small town like this.
“Do you think we blend in with the rest of the people here?” I said.
“Just look at us.”
I looked at the couple next to our table. Skinny in the way that is only natural for Asian people in Asia. Yellow converses. Shorts. Make up was used to make the girl’s eyes appear extra large; a Taiwanese style of attractiveness. At the table behind Anne, there were two tan dark skinned men with dirty fisherman caps and boots. They had the kind of jackets, the ones with the faint crest line across the top of the back, that made you think of warehouses and docks.
“I guess not then.”
“They probably think we’re Koreans. Or Japanese.”
“Especially you. You’re looking pale,” I said.
We sipped red tea until our food arrived. The red tea, too, was amazingly cheap.
“My god…” I said.
An explosion in my mouth.
“It’s soooo good. Even the noodles too,” she said. She put a hand to her cheek as she chewed and swallowed. “I can have 20 of them by myself.”
This was one of the more memorable moments we had: eating dumplings late at night together while contemplating whether we were Chinese enough to blend into rural Taiwan. One from Hong Kong. One from America.
I felt good watching her gorge herself. She seemed to really enjoy it. I liked to see people pleased when they’re eating.
“I’m sorry if you no longer think I’m elegant and lady-like,” she said.
“Maybe, but I like this side of you more.”
“It’s not as if you have a choice though. Just take it or leave it.”
“I’ve taken it.”
“Remind me to forget my passport,” I said. I would say this often: the fates of my passport was directly tied to what we had for dinner on any particular night.
We still had to stop by 7-Eleven to buy shaving razors and water. But we were stuffed and I wondered if would actually make it.
“Let’s not go home too soon,” I said.
Blocks away from the hotel and across the bar we passed earlier, machines were churning. From far away, they sounded like boat motors coming in for the night. Closer, we saw that it was a printing press. The print room was in the basement of a medium sized concrete building. Two large delivery vans were parked on the ramp out in front. Walking around to the side of the building, we could see the spools spin on the other side of the metal window blinds.
“Can you smell that,” I said, “It smells like paper and ink.”
“It’s interesting that a small town like this would have their own newspaper. What would they write about?”
“You’d be very surprised.”
“Is it usually like this?”
“Yeah. They print around this time, then package or bundle them for delivery. At around four of five, they go out.”
We looked around us. All we could imagine were the buildings we passed by on our way to the dumpling shop and the areas around our hostel. We never imagine that it stretched over an entire mountain range and river gorge. That the fields ran for hours until the next neighboring town.
I made coffee for us and laid a few Newports on the table. Edited for a few minutes but it just wasn’t happening. Within an hour, I heard her laughing from the bed.
“What is it?”
“Charlene just sent me something. Take a look.”
There was a photo of a homeless man on her notebook screen. He was handsome and disheveled. He had s a shopping bag under one arm and was smoking a cigarette that looked as if it was rolled with newspaper.
“Who is that?”
“People have been taking his picture in China. Everyone calls him Brother Sharp”
“Why?”
“Because of the way he dresses. Don’t you think he’s cool?”
“He looks like Chang Chen.”
“I like him. He actually has a sad story. Some people are saying that he lost his wife in car accident and that he went crazy and ended up on the streets.”
“This sounds like Korean drama.”
I stood up and got out of bed.
“We were suppose to be editing.”
“I know….fuck. I don’t want to deal with it.”
“Do it tomorrow then.”
“Sorry babe.”
I brushed my teeth while she followed the rest of Brother Sharp’s story.
“What do you think you would do if you lost your wife like this?” she said.
“I don’t know. I don’t think I’d wear women’s dresses like he does.”
“I’d probably remember her and mourn for a bit. Then I’d try to forget.”
“That’s it?”
“Maybe I’d write a book about it.”
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