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On every corner, there is someone selling
a copy watch or a tailored suit
and my Western face is promising,
though I haven't worn a watch in thirty years
and have never owned a tailored suit. But here
the face, not the clothes, make the man,
so I have consumer potential. I am late,
trying to weave through dense crowds
to the ferry. They say people are always
in a hurry in Hong Kong, but
it is a hard place to hurry.
	In Shekou, I walk
the short block
where women wait
in doorways
every evening, voices
smooth in English,
finding their mark.