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Why was I thinking about death again, much less my own death? I was alive, in love, and happy. Very happy.
I turned west on Jiantan Road, away from the night market. I continued along the boarded-up future site of the Taipei Performing Arts Center, which looked like a moon base in artist renderings. I was sure that it was going to have many important cultural events that I wouldnât have the time, money, or desire to attend.
I crossed Chengde Road and stopped at the all-night fruit stand, which had way better deals than the cheats at the night market. I bought a pineapple that had already been shorn of its headpiece and skinned. Itâs always good to have one in the fridge.
After I turned the corner, I saw a huge billboard and a wave of foreboding came over me. The giant ad was from a hospital. Like all hospital ads, none of the people in it seemed to require hospitalization. A three-generation family was sitting in their living room, smiling like dopes and pointing to a full moon that was perfectly centered in their apparently high-definition glass window.
the mid-autumn festival: a time to love, declared the ad.
I trudged on about four blocks to Qiangang Park, which was pretty big for a neighborhood park and included an outdoor pool near the obligatory temple to Mazu. My apartment was on the second floor of a generic concrete building that had sprouted up in the 1990s. From the bedroom I had a great view of a lighted small dirt patch in a neglected section of the park. Itâs a decent apartment with unwarped floors and gets quite a bit of light. Plumbingâs in great shape, too. I couldnât understand why the preceding tenants had all broken their leases. Not until my first weekend.
Every Friday and Saturday nights, a pack of stray dogs entered the park and the alpha fought off challengers on that dirt patch. Dogs of all sizes, shapes, colors, and hair lengths let loose with howls of laughter and pain like partying teenagers in American films. It was loud enough to rattle my windows. Nancy refused to stay over on weekends. âThose are incarnations of evil spirits!â she declared.
At about three in the morning, the alpha would pull his head back and wail a saga. He had the general shape of a German shepherd wrapped in knots of long, dirty white hair. His head fringe hung at a rakish angle over his face, covering one of his eyes. By the end of the night, he was often splattered in blood. He would lick it off and smile at the moon. I named him Willie after Willie Nelson.
I watched Willie after his victories. At first I hated him for presiding over all that noise but I came to admire the beast as a decent fellow. The dog wouldnât kill his defeated rivals, as was his right to. Not only did he forgive them, he seemed to grant them high ranks in the pack as a consolation prize.
How could Willie be an evil spirit?
The Council of Agriculture, which was responsible for rounding up strays, showed up only during the big ferret-badger rabies scare. They were supposed to vaccinate the dogs, as well. But when the guys left their truck for a dinner break, Willie led his top dogs into their cab through an open window and pissed all over the interior. The COA workers called a tow truck and took a cab home. It was all caught on security cameras.
Not only is CCTV the nationâs top crime-fighting tool, it doubles as source material for cable news programs and talk shows. One news station created an animated meme of giant dogs pissing on things, including the Taipei 101 skyscraper, the face of the head of the COA, and the full moon of the Mid-Autumn Festival, turning it yellow.
So what if my bedroom was a box seat to dog mischief? It was still an improvement from my old home, the one in the benignly sleazy Wanhua District that I had grown up in. That was an illegal building that had burned down to the ground more than a month ago. Seems like a former life.
When my parents died, I had been saddled
I turned west on Jiantan Road, away from the night market. I continued along the boarded-up future site of the Taipei Performing Arts Center, which looked like a moon base in artist renderings. I was sure that it was going to have many important cultural events that I wouldnât have the time, money, or desire to attend.
I crossed Chengde Road and stopped at the all-night fruit stand, which had way better deals than the cheats at the night market. I bought a pineapple that had already been shorn of its headpiece and skinned. Itâs always good to have one in the fridge.
After I turned the corner, I saw a huge billboard and a wave of foreboding came over me. The giant ad was from a hospital. Like all hospital ads, none of the people in it seemed to require hospitalization. A three-generation family was sitting in their living room, smiling like dopes and pointing to a full moon that was perfectly centered in their apparently high-definition glass window.
the mid-autumn festival: a time to love, declared the ad.
I trudged on about four blocks to Qiangang Park, which was pretty big for a neighborhood park and included an outdoor pool near the obligatory temple to Mazu. My apartment was on the second floor of a generic concrete building that had sprouted up in the 1990s. From the bedroom I had a great view of a lighted small dirt patch in a neglected section of the park. Itâs a decent apartment with unwarped floors and gets quite a bit of light. Plumbingâs in great shape, too. I couldnât understand why the preceding tenants had all broken their leases. Not until my first weekend.
Every Friday and Saturday nights, a pack of stray dogs entered the park and the alpha fought off challengers on that dirt patch. Dogs of all sizes, shapes, colors, and hair lengths let loose with howls of laughter and pain like partying teenagers in American films. It was loud enough to rattle my windows. Nancy refused to stay over on weekends. âThose are incarnations of evil spirits!â she declared.
At about three in the morning, the alpha would pull his head back and wail a saga. He had the general shape of a German shepherd wrapped in knots of long, dirty white hair. His head fringe hung at a rakish angle over his face, covering one of his eyes. By the end of the night, he was often splattered in blood. He would lick it off and smile at the moon. I named him Willie after Willie Nelson.
I watched Willie after his victories. At first I hated him for presiding over all that noise but I came to admire the beast as a decent fellow. The dog wouldnât kill his defeated rivals, as was his right to. Not only did he forgive them, he seemed to grant them high ranks in the pack as a consolation prize.
How could Willie be an evil spirit?
The Council of Agriculture, which was responsible for rounding up strays, showed up only during the big ferret-badger rabies scare. They were supposed to vaccinate the dogs, as well. But when the guys left their truck for a dinner break, Willie led his top dogs into their cab through an open window and pissed all over the interior. The COA workers called a tow truck and took a cab home. It was all caught on security cameras.
Not only is CCTV the nationâs top crime-fighting tool, it doubles as source material for cable news programs and talk shows. One news station created an animated meme of giant dogs pissing on things, including the Taipei 101 skyscraper, the face of the head of the COA, and the full moon of the Mid-Autumn Festival, turning it yellow.
So what if my bedroom was a box seat to dog mischief? It was still an improvement from my old home, the one in the benignly sleazy Wanhua District that I had grown up in. That was an illegal building that had burned down to the ground more than a month ago. Seems like a former life.
When my parents died, I had been saddled
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