Dear Charlie,

May time in South China. This
sudden hot wet air is gasoline. One difference,
it won't light. Haul on it though
you will. Even those really huge
lightning strikes just stutter out. Better
take one last good lungful at April cool.
September 25 you can breathe
again. September 25. Did I ever
tell you about Mid-Autumn? The one
festival here I actually get. Lanterns,
the yellow moon. Bridges and gardens.
Kids up late. Footsteps
silver in the dark. No-one yells.
Moominvalley, Charlie. It's Hong Kong's secret
life. Beauty, I mean. The weather breaks
at the new moon and I forget myself. (I start saying
gasoline and referencing Finnish authors.)

I'm trying to say I'll survive the summer. Nine
and one half years I've been here now.

See you in August,

Ben