The sun is bright, nearly blinding me as my bike lurches out of the awning shade and stops centimeters from the curb. The shrill squeal of protest emitted from my brakes doesn’t elicit so much as a glance from the other pedestrians crowding the sidewalk’s corner as they wait for the blue “walk” sign to flash.
I glance around me, enjoying the chance to observe under the cover of anonymity. Sunglasses don’t quite fit my head when I have my winter hat pulled down over my ears to prevent icicles from forming, and so at this instant, I am just another Asian face in a vast sea.
Vast for my town means four or five people milling around a specific location at any given time.
One of them is wearing what appears to be a white surgical “face” mask. Although I’ve gotten used to this decidedly odd sight in the mind of a Westerner, it still draws my attention for an instant. As she chats with her mask-less friend, I find myself admiring her courtesy. No doubt she’s slightly ill with a cold or a cough, and is wearing the mask to keep from infecting those around her as best she can. Just one of the many unwritten social graces formed by a people coping with compact living conditions.
The crowd begins to stir, and I quickly snap my head forward and up before wincing and ducking my chin back under the scarf wrapped around my neck. The icy wind is vicious today.
I squint at the light more carefully this time. Ah. It’s blue.
Onward. Dinner won’t cook itself, after all.
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