Tuesday, October 19, 2004


Fluorescent windows stretch to infinity and the orange lights of the city shine up into the sky, bright holes and well-ordered eyelets in the blackening evening. The moon is an orange smile in the sky tonight, setting slowly and fading. That Cheshire grin looking down on me again in my 16th-floor wonderland apartment where I blow smoke through the screen. "It's me," it seems to say through its teeth.

The street looks orange from the lights and everything is filtered through the dust and pollution which continues to create the new illusion of Beijing for the world and, at least, for the time being, for me. The indefatigueable noise of traffic and reconstruction dulling another cold senseless night waiting for my love to return.

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