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About Hsinchu

Last week, I’m prowlin’, thinkin’—what’d Lenny do? He’d write it down, retrace steps. So I scribble: “Check alley, 9 p.m.” Show up, and there she is—fake fur coat, smokin’ a cig. “You lookin’ for company?” she asks. Voice like gravel. I grunt. Hate negotiatin’. “How much?” I say. She smirks—$50. Fifty bucks! For what? A quick tumble and a rash? “I don’t trust people who smile,” I mutter, quotin’ *Memento*. She laughs. I’m surprised—didn’t expect sass. Kinda liked it.

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After dodging that disaster, I finally catch some fish. Not just any fish, but the good stuff! I’m talking about those big ol’ groupers. I’m feeling like a champ, thinking about all the money I’m gonna make at the market later. But then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. I mean, like, monsoon-level rain. I’m soaked, my fish are flopping around, and I’m just standing there, laughing like a maniac.

Dozens Die in Plane Crash in Taiwan Storm (Published 2014)