Like This in China

Two colleagues had chosen a place to dine.  It wasn’t what I would have chosen.  But for them the city is still new.  And as I recall ,when the city and the civilization were still new for me too, I also opted for Chinese food in San Francisco.   The Far East Café on Grant street has apparently been around since the 1920s.  I’ve probably walked past it one hundred times but I suspect I would have remembered these gaudy lanterns and the row of baojian rooms, along the side had I ever dined here before. 

One of my colleagues was from Japan.  Another from Beijing.  My business partner was from Australia.  My rule in the U.S. when someone asks where I would like to eat is say: “nothing “Asian” thank you.”   But in as much as they'd already begun their evening there, I sat down and soaked up some of the chinoiserie vibe, trying to make the most of it.  The waiter told us the enormous lanterns were specially imported from China  But my friend from Beijing questioned this.  "We don’t have lights like this in China." 

Tonight, my dear friend was supposed to travel across the Bay to meet me.  He wrote to say he had a kidney stone in motion, poor chap.  He’ll be on sedatives and in no mood to come out and see me, nor will he be hosting.   Now I wouldn’t have any reason not to see a separate friend out at the the airport where he was departing this evening, and though I debated whether or not to take a cab, in the end I got my Men’s Silk Groom like I always do over at the Kiehl’s store in the Westfield mall on Market and before long heading down the familiar, escalator to hear the same old man and woman repeating the names of the trains approaching. "Five car Daly City train in five minutes."

I got in the front car and took a seat to myself.  Two seats ahead of me a man, younger than me was ill at ease, glancing at me and glancing around.  I considered our surroundings and considered him anew.  He was no longer interested in me.  Soon, he took a rough looking crack pipe out and he began hitting off it as the train sped along.  He’d rightly assumed that I was no threat, someone who couldn’t be bothered, rather than some off-duty Irish American cop.  Crack doesn’t come up much in Beijing.  May the BART passenger find peace and a way to stop as I'm sure he'd like to. 

Thursday, 02/28/19