Up on Tong Yun Guy
The night was awash in light.
I stood on the sidewalk in the Chinatown of San Francisco, jostled by the press of people as I looked upward. Red shine flooded my face, blinking arhythmically from flashing brake lights, from a traffic signal, from the spinning cherry of a police car. This was an uptown crowd, a Saturday night turned white from Marin, from East Bay, from the stream of glaring headlights on the stream of honking cars. I was a stranger in disguise, a tong yun from out of town standing on Tong Yun Street, looking like a native in worn jeans and scuffed black boots.
The keilin stood silently on the roof of a building across the street, three stories over the steep incline, swishing its tail-of-an-ox. It was unseen by all but me as I strained my neck upward t
