Just outside the Metro entrance a group of peddlers spreads a blanket with goods. Someone notices the police coming up the stairs from below the surface of the earth and alerts the ware sellers of the oncoming rebuke. In a flash the blanket the goods and the people are gone. Not a trace, noone would have ever known they were there. The night has turned cold, and before I can descend into the belly of the subway Xi Zhi Men subway station, I must finish my cigarette. I notice someone has set up an impromptdu barbeque and is roasting mutton kebabs. I saunter up and inquire as to the price and am told by a flustered vendor," Yi kuai yi chuan," I reply, "wo yao wu chuan." Unnoticed moments pass and I'm handed five mutton kebabs. Sprinkled with a bit of spice, they are the ultimate street food snack. I'm left to dispose of five bare kebab sticks and an extinguished cigarette, which I do before stepping into a slightly warmer stairwell. A ticket counter and another stairwell lead me onto the platform of the Beijing subway. I scan timetables and decide upon a route home that won't take half the night and step up into an obviously aging train. I'm lucky enough to find a seat, a rare occasion indeed, and with my headphones on, I settle into the rythmic jarring of the subway tracks. I notice a woman across the aisle who seems to be concerned about what she's reading in the newspaper. She looks almost scared. Crumpled eyes and a stern frown keep me entranced upon her face and I wonder what's going on in her mind, and if I'd care were I to find out. A couple of minutes later I notice her newspaper has been folded up and tucked under her arm as she safely dozes. Then there's the gentleman sitting a bit further down. The flourescent light does his bald head no favors as he fiddles with a cell phone. I'm reminded of my own cell phone and pull it out of my pocket to check the time. If I'm lucky I'll be home in forty-five minutes. I settle into a trance and step off the train in a dream like state. The mass of people shuffle me about and someone knocks off my headphones, a quick nod and he dissapears into the thicket of humanities swamp. I surface above ground and breathe.

The adventure from my apartment on the east side of Beijing to the office that lays in the northern district of the sprawling metropolis, known as Yan Yun Cun is one continuous, seamless motion. Waking up is a struggle that is met head on day in and day out. The shower that awakens leaden senses and the rituals of personal hygiene followed by an exit through a door. A brief descention down a stairwell, and I'm greeted by a solid wall of human beings. 

My habit of taking a taxi has been overidden by a walk to the di tie or subway. I encounter a human spectalce unrivaled in western lands. The immense, mind boggling density of human beings on the streets, scurrying here and there, leaves me breathless and in awe. Underneath the apparent confusion outlined by bustle, there lies a certain kind of organazation. Subway trains arrive and depart like clockwork. Buses take me and others where I want to go without a hitch. Street vendors selling Chinese breakfast items that fill the air with smells, initiate rumblings in my stomach. They call out what they're selling in a broken record, monotone voice that is largely ignored. Old men set up chairs in alleyways and advertise stop and go haircuts. In the hour that it took to get from my apartment to work, I saw more than I'd see in a month in the States. That's why I came here. That's the incredible difference of culture I craved.

Leaving work and going home will be the same thing in reverse. The bus, the subway, the walk. Mix in 10 million other people partaking in the after work rush, and you have the makings of apparent anarchy. I love it. A stop at a restaurant for some food consumed with chopsticks and washed down by a cool Yanjing beer. It's fun. I think it's fun.

Someone has strayed a little too far from the office. To my right is seated a gentleman engrossed in his perusal of internet dating websites. Chain smoker, middle age, mildly distinguished. I'm vageuly entertained when outlook express fails to give him the desired result. It appears that in his rush to get some online action, he has forgotten to sign up for a web based email account. I can see it now...

A business associate named Zhang walks into the office with a glowing face and pipes up,"Hey Wang. Have a good weekend?"

"It was okay I guess. Just stayed at home and got caught up on some work. How was yours?"

"Man, let me tell you! It was fantastic. See, I met this girl on an internet dating service..."

Or something like that. My friend seated next to me probably had a shitty weekend  watching DVD's and eating take away food, and sees this as his chance to score. He clicks on profiles of potential women and clicks their email address. Outlook express automatically opens up and once again he's confused. Obviously to embarrassed to ask for help, he jots down the email addresses for a time when he's a bit more internet adept.

Life in the big city. 10 million faces that you don't know. The faces you see on any given day are unlikely to cross your path again. The lady at the store who sells cheap instant noodles, or the fuwuyuan who works at the cigarette stand are tough shells to crack as far as small conversation goes. Impersonality, and lots of it, is a glaring characteristic of Beijing. Rather than trying to make some in depth pshycological profile on why people are meeting people on internet dating services, I'll just say that with such a frenetic pace being lived by Beijing citizens, I can see how people could get lonely. Or why they wouldn't be able to find a date. Poor bastard. Still trying to figure out outlook express.

Looking back, he really couldn't think of anything that he'd change. It's a futile struggle when one resorts to taking up arms against regret.

Standing on the street corner waiting for a taxi, the bitter cold turned his face and hands a deep red. Taxis kept passing, but with passengers, and he was frustrated. Work was waiting for him across streets and neighborhoods buildings that reached towards the sky. Giving directions to a location in a language not fully grasped is a challenge that must be confronted every day, every ride. He speaks, and the car goes. The red, two door car is going in the right direction. Crack the window, light a smoke.

Arrival at the office and a quick glance around lets our hero know he's practically alone. Might as well take this chance to fire up the computer and see what gives. Email. Websites geared for entertainment. The creak and snap of a door opened and closed. Arrivals. Hellos. A mix of Chinese and English fills the air. Might be time to begin, but not before a cigarette is consumed.

Tea. Coffee. Cookies. Drinking, eating. All are done while words are being spoken between people trying to figure things out. It's not much of a blur for our hero, because he's actually paying attention this time. Write a note depicting a good point. Remember it and attempt to make it your own. Break? Sure. Take ten. Time to hit the head.

Progress. It's slowly accumalating until office staff arrive with take away containers of food. Scent fills the room and mouths begin to water. A 'ding' lets all know that the rice is ready. Fried vegetables, fried tofu....pork, chicken, rice, chopsticks. Lunch is done and a full gut makes work hard. What is needed is a nap. What is needed is an afternoon off. Time for another smoke. After sex and after a meal. Must smoke times, he likes to call them. Must smoke times. Must smoke. Yellow residue on stained teeth. It was the coffee, leave the smokes out of it. Run like hell, the sun is setting. Taxi, subway, walk. Turned key, open door. Couch much missed. He sinks into a familiar position. In a couple hours he'll move his body into a bed where sleep is allowed to overtake. Turn off the cell phone, distractions not allowed.