Little Boxes

I live in a resort community called Discovery Bay. Also known as “DB” or Dogs and Babies. Word has it that if you drink the water you will get pregnant.

This is a town where the men work and the women workout.

DB is a planned community with hillside residences, tennis courts, and some apartment towers (this is Hong Kong after all). You can imagine where I live. Just adjust your eyes to see through the fog of pollution and gaze up a muscular hill covered with short rocky scrub that from a distance it looks like a greenish velvet. Go along the rushing creek cutting through and over huge rocks. Ignore the flash flood signs. Everyone does. Trek further up the hill until you cannot go any further. On either side of the street, lush grounds of chemically treated grass from the golf course will escort you right up to the door of the exclusive golf club. I’m a member. But you should know that I don’t play and I think that golf courses are an affront to our environment. Anyway, across the roundabout from the club is where the toothless guard sits in his glass booth next to the sign that bares the name of my little neighborhood.

This is where I exist.