Nobody's Interesting Life

           AIR FRANCE FLIGHT 188 landed at Hong Kong International Airport shortly after 17:00.  I inspected my pants. Almost no trace was visible of my little adventure. As is custom, the moment the wheels touched the tarmac, a number of Hong Kong passengers unbuckled their seatbelts and attempted to retrieve their baggage from overhead compartments. A flight attendant chastised the perpetrators on the intercom and reminded everyone, for their safety, to stay seated until the plane came to a complete stop and the captain switched off the seatbelt light. As we arrived at the gate, the impatient got their wish and passengers scrambled to their feet like someone shot off a starter pistol. I remained in my seat and watched while nearly the entire plane stood in the aisle for ten or fifteen minutes, waiting for the gate to line up and for the flight crew to open the door. Perhaps because we were at the extreme rear of the cabin,...

           A DAY BEFORE MY FLIGHT, I took a taxi to the post office with a couple of boxes to ship to Calvin’s place in Hong Kong. One box contained a multitude of books I felt I had to keep and the other a few pots and pans, some utensils, some clothes, and various other household items I didn’t wish to pack into a suitcase. I had given away or tossed approximately three-quarters of my possessions. A few I was still thinking about, but mostly I felt liberated. Anything I needed could be purchased where I was going anyway.             The price of shipping turned out to be fairly expensive. I decided to lighten the weight by pulling out some books. The cashier gave me a plastic bag. I thanked her in French. I was nearly out the door when I remembered I had something else to mail. I returned to the cashier and handed her the envelope with my letter to Madeleine inside. “C’es...

Brigitte left for Hong Kong. I watched her walk through security at the airport and then waited until her plane took off to be sure I didn't squander any opportunity to be with her for even a minute longer. I had already begun to arrange things so I could join her in a little more than eight weeks. A pair of my closest friends lived in the city. I knew I could rely on them for a place to stay until I got myself situated. Calvin Ng was a half-French, half-Chinese photographer with multiple tattoos including the symbol for infinity behind his left ear, and a full sleeve on his left arm with an hour glass connected at the elbow as the centrepiece. The sand was almost completely in the forearm section which, ever since he had it done, served as the topic for countless philosophical and psychoanalytical debates both real and as conversation starters with women. His hair changed colors more often than the seasons and the piercings on his body seemed to multiply every time I came for...