Lin Page 3 and rain that thuds on and on. Hong Kong struggles through the pregnant thunderclouds of August to arrive at the serene, spent skies of January. Beer coated with the neon of evening may dribble down Gun Duk's mouth as his friends chant away, daring him to finish the whole bottle; at the same instant, Paul vomits into the toilet bowl, seized with the morning hangover. Gun Duk: Gambler to excess, his passion and crucible. Mah jong, horse races at the Happy Valley track, even hobnobbing at the Jockey Club when opportunity allows. Besides that, he has no convictions, very happily so. Easy to say he never grew up, but there is more than that - he did grow up, and found it wanting. So he easily flows between child and adult, caring about work inasmuch it allows him to play. His apartment was exact and new only five years ago, purchased at the height of the housing boom - now it is worth 60 percent less, and as if in response, the interior has grown dingy, damp, cluttered. His life here has been distilled to the nightly glow of his computer screen as he pores over stock prices, chats with his buddies and contacts on the phone, always looking for an in, an up, an out. Cars: Bringers of changed fortunes and death. Perhaps Paul and Halley meet because she nearly runs him over one day (she is an absent-minded driver). Cars are a sore point with Paul; they easily outrage his sense of fair play. Something as simple as attempting to find street parking, a police car skulking behind you, and the impatient cop, lacking anything better to do, snaps on his loudspeaker: Why don't you move it! Or when cars run red lights, a breath from mowing you down, so oblivious to your existence that your