Ambulando

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… from a burger king.

It is not easy coming back “home” at 3 in the morning, after a busy night spent drinking beer in a unlicensed bar’s terrace and ending talking about opening a bar in Tahilandia with an Italian bio-engineer in a corner of a hidden square in central Hong Kong.
Even if you had a big dinner in a local restaurant, one of the type that just locals know aboout, on the upper floor of a fish market, and you had a double portions of everything, especially the gingerly frogs’ legs, after a few beers you are hungry again.
And even a city like Hong Kong, with its lights always on, does not offer much choice at 3 in the morning, apart from the 7-11 and foot massage parlours and MacDonalds.
So I left the minibus from Central and started walking to Chungking Mansion, a 15 minutes walk, and from far a 24h Mac was a tempting stop. In the middle of the night, in a city where nobody knows you, what the fuck? I can enter in a McDonald’s and no one will ever know.
And, even if, at that time, I also had the excuse that no other food was available.
15 minutes walk at 3am in the morning could be easily done, but I am lazy after midnight, I always tell that. And a bus was approaching me on the right direction, and was doing my very same way.
So I got my hand out, I prepared the fare to be paid, and I cought my bus, saving myself from the lie I would have told you instead.

So I finally managed to leave Hong Kong. It was addictive: the (in)famous tomorrow that never come. I already experienced something similar in Mexico, just one day more, every day, till 10 days passed.
This morning I woke up first at 8, woken by a rooster in my alarm clock, then at 9.30 the fire alarm went off, then, at 10:30, I looked at the watch and a malincuore decided it was enough late, so I made a coffee, had a shower, found a room in Macau via internet, and left the Chungking mansion for the last time.
Finding a ferry to Macau was easy enough, and in less time than expected, here I am, trying to get some lost sleep, and realizing that on Sunday, in Portuguese Macau, everything is closed.
Apart from casinós.