Today is the day before the day that was and is no more.

Six years ago I was glad not to think about the money for two hours. It meant something in me was redeemable after all.

Today, however, I am racing through the streets of Beijing. Racing through the cold night air, my eyes looking out for spots of black ice I might slip on. The air full of soot and exhaust and comes into my lungs cold and harsh, like any chinese cigarette. It is late and people are making there way home and mocking me. At intersections I am careful not to trust cars to stop. Drunken men are wandering the streets and I become part of their unreal reality.

I pass the North Korean embassy, then Ritan Park, and then the Silk Street market until I am the main drag of Beijing. Chang Jie. Beijing with it's wide intimidating boulevards. With it's main street, the one of tanks and dignitaries. There is no downtown here. There is no here, here.

I race through the russian district, past mobsters and hookers, hookers and mobsters. I run faster and faster past the demolished buildings lying in waste next to the new plazas. Some would say the old way was better. Some are always nostalgic. But what is there to love about four story cement block apartments when you have the new and better.

There are days when I feel I will join her sooner rather than later. Join in the emptiness, join in the cold blue sea. There are no days where I don't feel the sooner it should be. But I have other reasons for the later and these are good, wholesome reasons, and they keep me moving. Day by day. December to May to December.

I race for today is the day before the day and today is slipping away. And I need to get home.