The Creme Scene

I was stretching on the corner facing Dihao Hotel at 6AM, beside a streetlamp of a bouquet of large oval incandescent bulbs that lined the streets of this block. I wasn’t the type to change my morning routine on the account that I happen to be some 300 KM away from home or that it was 14?C out on a wet spring day in Jinjiang City.
I finished stretching to notice the entire Dihao Hotel reception desk staring at me. I was wearing a tank top, and running shorts. Admittedly, it wasn’t the recommended outdoor equipment for the cusp of winter. At least, I hoped that was what they were staring at.
I started running. I pass strip malls with brands like K-Bird (whose logo is an upside-down swoosh) and Anmani (not misspelled). Beyond them, midrise housing complexes create a uniformly jagged, gray skyline. Unashamedly dotting the city were construction sites. I was watching one of those educational videos of time lapsed cocoons but I wasn’t sure if what will emerge is a dusty moth or a vain butterfly.
I ran and passed a young couple, swaggering out of a KTV bar, still in evening coats, a little more crumpled by the night but still fashionable in the morning. They had an arm about the other’s waist and eyes too tired to look at anything but their steps.
I passed an alley bustling with breakfast: stalls of deep-fried bread with pork floss and pickles; pulled noodles and beef stomach; vegetable stuffed eggrolls made right before the eyes; or dumplings, crunchy fried on the bottom, soft steamed on top with a miracle of soup inside.
I passed a bus station brimming with people rushing in or out the city to celebrate the Lunar New Year anywhere but where they were. They dragged hard case luggage, sacks with wheels built into them or muddy bottomed sports bags. Right there in the station, a mobile phone company was having a loud promo on prepaid sim cards. Judging from their buyers, it was a good deal.
I passed a new bridge flanked by ancient bilobas. Just beyond, I saw a Buddhist temple on the far bank, red brick, gold leaf, and dragons; its gardened courtyard stretched just before the river’s edge. There, some twenty, thickly coated women were doing laundry in the brown-green water, chatting noisily. My eyes stayed with them until my watch beeped to say that I needed to turn around, just past the bridge. As I turned, a single crane flew up from its little, floating island of garbage on the slow-moving river’s surface and I see the first glimpse of sunrise.