We're heading to Sai Kung. There is a winding hill and bowing trees, scenic things, the things you take pictures of and show to people who maybe care, but most likely don't. You know how it's done: you string all the photos together and make the whole family crowd around.
There are a lot of old women on this bus, little ladies with crooked, scrunched up faces and tiny feet. At the front, up near the driver, there is a bucket of Easy Finish joint compound (ready mix), stacked next to numerous bottles, tools, backpacks, rubbish offcuts. A pile of junk. It's the sort of thing that inspires confidence, knowing the bus could fall to pieces at any moment. ("Hey driver, half of this left wall just fell off!"- "Don't you worry, just grab summathat joint compound at the back. It's ready mix for your convenience.")
The bus stops multiple times. I get off on the last. When I'm off the olive seats for a moment, I breathe in the cool stiffness of a not-quite summer morning, then get on a connecting bus to Mong Kok. The streets we pass are thin, built up along the sides with cramped little buildings and tall, palm-like trees. We pass the sea on the left, and around it, hundreds of white tottering houses mirrored by the clean white boats below. We move through Pak Wai village. It's just a half hour ride to those big Mong Kok streets.
An afternote:
Some punk told me Hong Kong was dirty as hell while he sucked up a drag and blew it out over my face. I don't think he really saw it.
