Sketches 2020

He escorted me through the writhing
hoard of disembarking passengers
and out to the parking lot where his
Cadillac waited amongst the crowd
of cars. From there, we began the
half-hour drive to a random hotel.
The twilight sky was as black as the
Cadillac that Hades drove me in. The
ride felt as though it were a grand tour
of those big-city streets with apartments
as tall as skyscrapers, many-storied
malls at every corner, and glaring
neon signs making my eyes water.
Those ad—very familiar corporate
shenanigans—all decried the utmost
importance for me to buy their phones,
computers, and cars, although I could
not read what fantastic, high-value
deals they had to offer, as they were
all in Mandarin Chinese.
Some days later, after being hosted in
that unnameable hotel, I got settled into
a closet that was cleverly disguised as
an apartment. Initially, I rarely ventured
outdoors and only watched life go by
through my window, twenty-five stories
high, facing two other buildings that
soared even higher into the balmy
Anhui (On-hway) skies. My only defense
against the growing threat of my own
mind was sending out Snapchats with
forced smiles; my friends were in wonder
and my mom was thrilled. Through
social media, it somewhat appeared
that I had finally made a dream of mine
come true, but my often-trembling
hands disputed such a notion.
Probably a week later, some of my
yet unseen, brand-spanking-new
coworkers invited me to a local
foreigner bar to drag me from my
dreary, gray high-rise. I managed to
catch a taxi and show the driver an
address typed out in Chinese, which
was sent to me through WeChat, China’s
ubiquitous messaging and social
platform. The quiet taxi ride soothed
my inner introvert and braced me as I
trudged my way into Fabio’s Pizza Bar.
My first reluctant steps were spent
rubbing my eyes from all the cigarette
smoke and trying not to look like a
fiery train wreck. As I trudged into the
open room, a shimmer of shining hope
was painted onto the beige wall to my
left–Come as a tourist, leave as a
friend. Little did I know, Fabio’s would
become my refuge, a boozy Elysium
for all foreigners who ventured from
countries around the world. Besides the
slew of world-goers who called Fabio’s
their second home, the Chinese locals
got a kick out of watching drunken
foreigners chanting along to Journey’s
“Don’t Stop Believin’” for the thousandth
time. My present-day best mate from
across the pond, one feisty Welshman
and DJ extraordinaire named Liam
Fishlock, gathered everyone around
to welcome me–the sole American–to
the group and toasted to the honors of
a new coworker. Ah, tequila, if it was a
person, it would be that delinquent who
partied too hard, had very few friends,
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