Late Night Arrival in a Foreign City

At 11.30, when I get off the bus which the cab
Driver told me would take two hours but actually took one, the
Streets round Causeway Bay are all of a bustle. It’s only five
Minutes from the bus stop to the hotel, but it takes fifteen.
My father gave me my grandfather’s old Samsonite suitcase.
I was won over by the dark tan, retro design. It looks
Like the kind of case Clark Gable, sighted on Sydney airport screens,
Might have had. Except he’d have had someone to carry it. I
Lug twenty five kilos down Paterson Street. Then am relocated
And lug twenty five kilos round to Jaffé Road. Hong Kong’s a steam bath.
I’m foolishly attired in jeans and my Buffalo Bill LA shirt.
After being given the worst hotel room I’ve seen in a long time,
In a warren of a building, I change into linen and head out
To take the air. The streets are still bustling. I learn that Iced
Green Tea is an acquired taste. I sample Wasabi-smeared
Street food. I mooch. Then, with a San Miguel and a packet of
Okinomiyaki flavoured crisps, I opt to retire for the night.