The rain has stopped. We find the Pacific Inn on Lai Ling Street, a grim alley about two blocks from the restaurant. A decrepit three-story row house with four small, wretched windows behind iron bars, and blotchy yellow cloth curtains. Water-stained walls. A shopworn sign with two overized red Chinese characters -- Tai Ping -- in a corner. Through the translucence of the curtains, a dim red glow.
Straight out of a Dickens novel, had Dickens been Chinese.
(from the novel The Pacific Between)
Category: Ray, Writing, Fiction, Pacific Between