contact

So I avoided eye contact, straightened my tie, and assumed the position
that would eventually get me on the Cathay Pacific's flight to Hong Kong.

In Hong Kong I'd seen huge matte black butterflies flapping around the
customs hall, nobody paying them the least attention. I'd caught a glimpse
of the Walled City of Kowloon, too. Maybe I could catch another, before
the future comes to tear it down.

Traditionally the home of pork-butchers, unlicensed denturists, and
dealers in heroin, the Walled City still stands at the foot of a runway,
awaiting demolition. Some kind of profound embarassment to modern China,
its clearance has long been made a condition of the looming change of
hands.

Hive of dream. Those mismatched, uncalculated windows. How they seemed to
absorb all the frantic activity of Kai Tak airport, sucking in energy like
a black hole.

I was ready for something like that. . . .

I loosened my tie, clearing Singapore airspace.