Puxi memories

In a taxi on Henan south road I feel it all coming back. People. Words. Places. I’m watching a woman slow pedal her yellow bike share bike across the intersection with Zhaojiabang Lu and think of all the times I crossed that stretch, on scooters gas and electric powered. On a BMX that was a present. On a yellow folding bike stolen months later somewhere just south. In taxis across three decades. I think of peoples’ old houses and wonder where they live now, if they are alive. If they are divorced, or their children graduated college. Some I know well enough that the thought becomes action and I send a message to check in. Sometimes they answer back. Many I don’t know, or can’t recall well enough to contact, and am left to speculate and appreciate. I think of the older couple that lived in a re-done lane house, creating a beautiful space with garden where they hosted game developers fresh from foreign lands. Their sanctuary became something special, and a window into the Shanghai of…