8pm, a man in dark business coat, holding a black leather briefcase in one hand and a take out dinner bag of Curry Chicken Rice in another, walks past a line of waiting taxis and towards a upscale apartment complex, casting a long shadow behind him.
There, I saw him again, one of hundreds of thousands expats living alone in a foreign city.
He gets home, turns on the music and computer, checks his mobile phone and email, no new messages. He eats the take-out dinner, puts the used dinnerware in the sink. Ayi will wash them tomorrow, she comes 3 times a week.
Sure, he's got friends, he has been to all the restaurants in 5 star hotels around the city, he knows Gong Ti West Gate and Sanlitun well and every weekend he goes around in parties making conversations to the same people he sees every week. Occasionally, there are some interesting people he'd like to know better, but they never stay, unlike him, stuck in this big, grey city.
When he gets home, late at night, more than often alone by himself, what's waiting for him? A bland, sparsely-furnished apartment filled with emptiness.
Alone, in this big city with a population of 15 miilions, he's got more than 200 entries in his phone book, none of them more than a party friend.
Are you him?
|
