Nighttime on the Small Island Nation…

It is near midnight in Taiwan. The streets of Taipei are still alive. Cars are stuck in traffic. Scooters zigzag around cars, pedestrians, and each other on the street and sidewalk. Venders yell out their sales to the masses. The fragrance of rice and cooked meats is in the air.

Three hours south, by car and train, in the city of Chia-yi, little is happening. A few cabbies are sleeping in their cars. Police patrol the empty streets. The main stores and shops are closed. Only, the whorehouses and 7-11 remain open.

My friends and I are on the roof of the office. J beat me in chess, again. Cuban cigars are passed around. C picks at the leftover potatoes from dinner and pours himself another cognac. B, R and A discuss their Chinese teacher.

On the way home, I pass rice fields: the moon reflecting off the rows of water. By sunrise, the farmers will be in them with little combines for harvest.

The humidity is thick in my room. I crank the AC. My bed is a double king and solid as a rock. I pull the sweat-filled sheets around my body.

Three hours north, a plane takes off for home. I stay here and am happy.