The Streets of Kowloon City

all is silent on the streets of Kowloon city, save for the dutiful click of a street light and the occasional taxi roar.

apparently it is 3am, though Circadia is telling me it is afternoon, the current time of the place I call home.

i am sitting on the curb near my hotel, alone, watching Hong Kong sleepily breath around me.

In the dead of night, i do not feel any threat to my person, and strangely, others roaming in the moonlight do not seem to either. No hurried strides or dicey glances to be seen in the several young women who’ve passed me by.

the smoldering heat of the day has dulled to an emphatic, pulse of warmth and wind

i watch gentlemen’s socks and lady trousers softly dance in the breeze floating by clothes lines, hung from the open windows of aged high rise apartments that disappear into the clouds.

perhaps a distant cousin of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg stares back at me from the signage of a beauty parlor across the street. It is observant and inconspicuous, like me. apart of the still and calm, quietly keeping watch over passersby. All seeing, all knowing.

though I may not be as discreet as supposed, as i notice an onlooker propped into an apartment window, peering down at me. An almost uncomfortable stare is exchanged, and I nod my head in greetings. No acknowledgement is returned, though he takes a long drag of a cigarette, exhales into the night sky, and gives me a tiny curl of a smile before disappearing back into the shadows.

his brief appearance intrigues my curiosity… I now wonder what hidden vibrance may lay behind these tiny apartment windows, glimpses into the authentic life of Hong Kong.

surveying the quiet mystery around me, I stay here for awhile. Hoping to soak up this moment for later reverie.

all is silent on the streets of Kowloon city, save for the dutiful click of a street light and the occasional taxi roar.

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photo: Marlee Archer