The party was on top of Pier 3 in the Hong Kong Harbor. The lights of the buildings are really gorgeous, and every night at 8 p.m. the skyscrapers put on a synchronized light show.
We had a few beers, then a few more. We ordered some Japanese-style barbeque. I had sirloin chunks on a skewer with that traditional Japanese dipping sauce, thousand island dressing; Kelly had samosas.
As the night wore on, things got stranger and stranger. The Filipino band played a rousing rendition of “Devil Went Down to Georgia.” Our Greek/German friend told a story about being an adolescent and being dared by a friend to visit a prostitute, but once he got to her room he saw a half-eaten cookie on her dresser and couldn’t get aroused. We requested “On The Road Again” and the band played something that approximated it. I went to introduce myself to the Norwegian language teacher, who was playing a Chinese card game at a table of guys who looked like supermodels. I walked over to their table, sat down, and promptly fell off my chair. I handed her a slip of paper with my email address, told her she could contact me there or on the floor, dusted myself off and ran.
Now I am eating the cutest pea snacks in the world and trying to recover.