The subway system in Beijing boasts the nickname: tuna can. There are men, tuna-packers. They stand, in yellow vests, shoving every last bit of flesh into each compartment. Once, a friend explained it to me rather well, he said, “You know when you’re in the subway and you are so packed in that you know it is not possible to fit another person? “Yeah,” I … Continue reading The Tuna Can
Beijing is a beehive in a dirt storm. I follow my recruiter into the officetel. She calls herself Jennifer. I don’t know her real name. She wears classes. Her English is poor. “You will interview.” “Okay.” “This is good company.” “Okay.” In the elevator, she stares at her phone. She turns it to me. “Who is this?” I look at the picture. It is her, … Continue reading Moo.