It had been a pointless day. I had traveled to the city center, to Hua Qiang Lu, the street full of electronics, computers, and assorted gadgetry, to find camera gear. My excursion had been a waste; the merchants tried to screw me because of my foreignness, or didn’t have the items I wanted. Leaving the air conditioned comfort of my apartment had been a mistake.

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The ladies at the local chicken shack take an afternoon break.

I rode the Metro (subway) to its last stop, my first step in getting home. I was surly as the escalator carried me back to the surface. The white hot sun assailed me, and my eyes adjusted from the subterranean dimness to a sidewalk full of hawkers, cops, and people waving frantically at passing cabs. I joined the fray.

My truce with the taxi drivers had been in place for months. They took me to my destination without needless twists and turns. There were no overt acts of war. I tipped and said 谢谢. There was time when I believed in a conspiracy between the taxi cab brethren. They all had my photograph and tried their hardest to drive me mad as they drove me around. After work they gathered in the “Screw Stevo” clubhouse and laughed at the red-faced 外国人 they had provoked.

A few people jumped into the cars that pulled to curb. Other waited and watched cabs as they slowed down, scanned the crowd, and placed the Out of Service sign in their windows. Other drivers would ask the assembled mass where they were headed and select the largest fare. I was hot and weary. Turning on my heel, I headed to the China Post kiosk on the corner. The green shacks, on almost every corner of the city, sell newspapers, cigarettes, and beverages.

A large cooler full of water and bottles of water sat outside the booth. A pretty Cantonese girl stood behind it, in the shade, out of harms way. I took a bottle from the top. It was tepid but I didn’t care; it was water and the temperature didn’t matter. I paid her 二元 and headed back to the battle royale.

“Ni hao!” called a male voice behind me. His tone was strident. I turned. He was a young man in a baggy muscle shirt and too large shorts. His smile was wide. I shrugged.

He plucked the bottle of water from my hand and placed back in the water. Then, he plunged his arm deep into the water-filled cooler and rummaged around, like a stage magician performing a trick. A smile announced his victory. His now-wet arm out of the water, he handed me a bottle from the bottom. It was marginally cooler. I smiled back, nodded and said thank you.

That is the dichotomy of China. The driver who will receive 60 元 from his fare is brusque, while the street vendor will soak his clothes and flesh for 2元. Rampant capitalism versus random kindness. The latter makes each day a joy.