A work of fiction. Working draft.

The room is dark. An air conditioner hum. You don’t wonder where you are. This is not your home—but that is ok.

Footsteps creak in the hallway. A door opens and shuts. The spell breaks. This is a hotel room. The alarm clock beside the bed burns red.

3:54am

I’m awake. My sinuses are worse.

My phone lights up. A new text—photos of my two cats back home. I reply, so cute! I miss them! and set the phone back on the nightstand. J— sleeps with her back to me. The pressure in my face is dull and constant now.

I’m not getting back to sleep.

4:06am

I decide to go for a walk. I need air. I need water.

I move slowly, careful not to wake her. Not ready to face her yet. My phone’s flashlight finds my Nikes and a hoodie. AirPods. Room key. I slip out.

The narrow hallway to the elevator. Third floor. Fullerton Hotel. Da’an District. Taipei. Taiwan.

In the lobby, the dining area is closed. I take a water bottle from the minibar and step outside.

She chose the hotel because it sits near a station where the red and brown lines intersect. From here, the city opens up. J— is good at this—researching, weighing tradeoffs, finding places that make movement feel easy. She moves through cities with confidence. I don’t.

We arrived in Taiwan five days ago. She’d been invited to give a workshop at a rural art school down south. I tagged along, working on my laptop outside the campus 7-Eleven, which doubled as a commons. A resident cat kept me company.

I walked the campus. Student housing. An outdoor track and basketball courts. Rows of parked scooters, helmets resting on the seats.

Beyond campus, in the nearby villages, farmers planted rice in flooded fields—by hand and by tractor.

Yesterday we left in the morning. A two-hour bullet train ride to Taipei. We spent the day exploring, eating dumplings, visiting an art museum, and then—inevitably—arguing. It escalated until we were both sulking.

By the time we were back at the hotel, we weren’t talking. I put in earplugs and went to bed. Morning would come either way.

4:13am

Outside the hotel, the relief is immediate. The air is cool, low 60s. Dark. Quiet.

An elevated track runs above the street in front of the hotel. Wide city lanes. Tree-lined medians.

Yesterday this was gridlocked—cars, scooters, bodies everywhere. Now empty. Taipei feels otherworldly at this hour.

I turn right.

My plan is to walk toward the dark skyscraper in the distance. Taipei 101.

We ate dumplings there yesterday and rode the elevator to the top to look out over the city. In the dark sky, the building feels unreal, all edges and shadow.

There and back in an hour or two.

I put in my AirPods and find a playlist I made for walking. Songs meant to stay with a place.

I loop the same track on repeat. Just one thing to hold onto.

Just Like Honey.
The Jesus and Mary Chain.
Noise cancellation on.
Play.

It starts with a simple drum beat.

thoom … thoom-thoom — tschhh
thoom … thoom-thoom — tschhh

Then the wall of sound arrives. A staticky, dirty riff. A tingle runs down the back of my neck.

Listen to the girl
As she takes on half the world

A calm, steady heartbeat. Patient.

I pass a brightly lit 7-Eleven. An employee stands behind the counter, expressionless. I imagine myself working there. It looks calm.

To the left, a long row of bright yellow YouBikes, the color of number 2 pencils. A park bench beneath a tree. Across the wide street, residential buildings. No lights on.

I keep walking toward the 101.

4:23am

I regret the way we ended last night.

The bullet train ride to the city had been breathtaking. She napped with her head on my shoulder. I watched the landscape slide past—small towns, hazy green mountains. A clear blue sky. Illustrations of penguins and rabbits in conductor uniforms lined the walls and seat-back brochures. A family ate breakfast from bento boxes, their young daughter standing between them.

At Taipei Main Station, we ate a snack and bought metro cards. We considered buying a souvenir train but didn’t want to carry it. Maybe later. Then it was off again—MRT, hotel check-in, dumplings, an art museum, photos together. Night market. Buzz in the air. Alleys lined with parked scooters. The hum of a city built for walking.

I was tired. I hadn’t felt quite right since arriving. First jet lag, then something else. She has more stamina than I do.

So we got a massage. They’re open late here. Families with children sat together in the waiting area. J— checked us in. We changed into brown striped shorts and were led to separate rooms.

A few years ago, I hurt my back. I wanted my massage to focus on my lower back and right leg. At one point, the masseuse found the exact spot.

Bingo. Right there.

I reached back to show her and accidentally bumped her leg. She jumped, startled.

No, no—sorry. Sorry. No. Just here. This spot. I pointed. Hurts.

I tried again, slower this time. She softened. The massage continued.

5:13am

I’m feeling better. My sinuses still ache and my movement is sluggish, but there’s a breeze and moving helps.

Street signs in Mandarin. Crosswalks painted with iconography that makes sense once you look closely. Traffic lights. Subway entrances. All of it recognizable, just different enough to hold my attention.

The 101 looms ahead, towering over everything. I move toward it slowly.

The beat keeps time for me.

thoom … thoom-thoom — tschhh
thoom … thoom-thoom — tschhh
It's good, so good, it's so good
So good

Maybe I should have woken J— up. She’s never liked mornings.

I’m up early and in bed early. She stays up late and sleeps in. Our days overlap in the middle.

There’s a gap.

5:26am

I reach the 101. A few lights glow in windows above, but the building is mostly dark. A couple of cars wait at the intersection. A cab idles. I take a few pictures and keep moving.

A few blocks away, I circle toward an area we were in yesterday. Shops. An outdoor Apple Store. I turn left, then right, into a wide plaza.

A young couple sits on a bench. She notices me. Hoodie, shorts over black thermal leggings, Nikes—I stand out.

She’s drunk. No translation needed.

She steps beside me, then suddenly bolts down the plaza, untied Doc Martens slapping the pavement, white dress and denim jacket flapping behind her. I laugh. Her boyfriend laughs, too. Twenty yards away, she stops and throws her hands up in mock victory.

I won!

thoom … thoom-thoom — tschhh
thoom … thoom-thoom — tschhh
For you—for you

5:34am

She was just the welcoming party. Dozens of college-aged kids cluster outside a row of bars and clubs. The night is ending. Everyone’s waiting for a ride. Cabs line the curb. I walk straight through the loose knots of people.

I’m aware that I’m older. A tired fondness settles in. They look exhausted, leaning into one another, killing time. Making mistakes. This is your window.

Who parties next to an Apple Store?

On the way back, I take a different route. Quieter. Residential. No neon. No medians. I reach a wide intersection where several roads converge. One disappears into an underground tunnel. Directional signs point everywhere and nowhere. I cross slowly.

Moving up and so alive
In her honey dripping beehive
Beehive

6:15am

I’m back at the 7-Eleven. She’s probably still asleep, but I text anyway—coffee? anything?

Three dots appear. Then vanish. Then nothing.

I exhale. Okay. This, I can do.

I pull out my AirPods and the static of the city rushes back. Inside, I buy two waters. Two bananas. Two bottled coffees.

I sit on the bench beneath the tree. More cars now. A few bikes. People walking with purpose. The sun isn’t up yet, but the sky has shifted to pale blue. I take a sip of water. Condensation drips from the cold bottle onto my hand.

thoom … thoom-thoom — tschhh
thoom … thoom-thoom — tschhh

Walking back to you
Is the hardest thing that
I can do
That I can do for you
For you

Psychocandy

The Jesus and Mary Chain

Apple Music ›