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bump -- it was as if the entire world were moving around us. The exhibition tower was on our left, bulging under the night lights like an uprooted bulb. To the right were the lower levels, no building allowed to rise over fourteen stories high for earthquake reasons. What would it be like, waking up to the monstrosity of that tower filling your entire view? No sun, barely any sky. Something was dancing before me -- an advertisement for something new, fresh, exciting, who knew what. The projection sidled up to me, a woman with indeterminate features and an outstretched palm, fingers like daggers, blowing a kiss in my direction. The adver- tisement culminated in the sound of the ocean against the beach, a sound carefully calibrated to appeal to any listener, an easy resolution of 
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bliss. Then came the ID, the price, the contact number. The city lights continued to whip by. A curious mix of anxiety and sleepiness was coming over me. One part of me was worried for Chen, gnawing over his last words, and the other part was finally succumbing to the stress that had accumulated over the last day. I examined my bare wrists and hands, counting the tiny hairs there, summing the numbers. In the olden days they counted sheep to fall asleep -- I used this method to stay awake. I was up to about one hundred thirty -- almost the height of Burney Falls in feet -- when the conductor announced Chen's stop. The rain had stopped and the pavement glis-tened with puddles of neon yellow and red. A late-night food stand at the corner was still serving zho, and I snapped up a bowl of the  |
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