A Few Blocks Away From Minchuan
Past the little park, past the shopping complex, and down a lane chock-full of cheap eats, there's another park. One of those carefully manicured, grassless setups you're not allowed to bring a pet into, so common around here in Taipei. At night, the park is trimmed in tiny, blue lights.
After the rains, just before ten in the p.m., is when I like it best.
I don't get to walk by it as much as I'd like. It is a little out of the way, and the dog is not yet too keen on traversing the lanes leading in to it. When I do pass by, it's usually occupied by old folks. . . old ladies mostly. Two of then will sit on a little bench, beneath a crooked tree. One talks excitedly and the other laughs and then says something terse and then it's the other's turn to laugh and then the cycle will repeat itself. . . and their later days pass by, slow and cheerful.
When I was photographing these lights, I went past a schoolkid with his girlfriend. By the looks of it, he was dropping her off at her parents' place. They were standing close to the front gate, pressed up against each other, tight, so that each had a good feel-on of the other's goods.
And he was whispering something into her forehead, to which she gave a single syllable in reply.
They were in their school uniforms, and the air around them was warm and prickly.
I wanted to hear more of her voice, but kept on walking so as not to throw the boy's game.
I looked the park over from a couple of angles. Had they been in there? Had both of them cased the grounds for the most out of the way groping nest? What did her face look like in all that blue light?
I took my shots and walked home, my cheeks flushed.
