This morning, while waiting for the trusty 54 green-top bus to whisk me to Central Hong Kong station, I noticed a few guys getting out of a van.
One of them started to dress himself in what appeared to be a space-suit. It took him about three minutes to get into the all white suit, strap on the goggles and gas mask and have a really heavy machine with what appeared to be a compressor and a tank of chemicals affixed to his back.
He looked like the guys who came for E.T.
Then he came for me.
He crossed the road, walking towards me and grunted. I couldn’t understand what he was saying. For one, it was in Cantonese, and for the rest, anybody speaking through a gas mask, would be hard to understand. But from the gesticulation, it appeared that he wanted me to stand aside. Probably so that I don’t get any of the whatever-was-in-the-tank-and-so-lethal-that-he-had-to-wear-a-all-that-gear on me.
Waiting for the bus, in Hong Kong, can sometimes be a dangerous business.
