Walking up the ramp to the bridge over the Danshui river, I saw a man in a white long sleeve shirt with a red fishing rod that was at least three meters across in his gloved hands. He was standing at the corner of the spillway and the river’s edge. Slowly coming up the spillway from behind him were two murky spots- fish. Each one forty centimeters or longer by my guess. The fish splashed their way over the barrier wall, startling the fisherman and causing him to jump. In the commotion he accidentally yanked his line out of the water. Lucky for him, there was a bream raw and wriggling hooked on the line; sadly the fish couldn’t have been more than ten centimeters, mouth to tail.
A mother and her two daughters crossed the street from the park to the alleyway. A white Tesla whizzed by just behind them, and the older of the two girls stopped in her tracks, turning fully around to watch the car fade down the road. Her mother and younger sister kept walking undisturbed and arrived safely on the opposite sidewalk. The girl in the street spun her head around, disoriented, looking for her family. Upon seeing them, she dashed forward to catch up- not noticing the loud motorcycle absolutely cruising towards her. My heart thumped in my chest, the calculus in my head showing the little girl and the speeding motorist would absolutely be in the same place at the same time. My body and mind froze as her feet pittered and pattered on the pavement. The driver screeched to a halt with a smile on his face not two whole feet off her right side; the little girl never even noticed. The driver motioned for me to walk on, and I waved at him with my full arm, thankful he was paying more attention than most other folks on scooters around here.
I turned the street corner onto my block. Not far away, behind a line of parked bikes, there stood another westerner. He was holding a large microphone with a fluffy black dead cat muffler on the end of a tiny boom. A thin wire connected his over-the-ear headphones to a small box hanging from his pocket. His face was sunbaked to the color of adobe and covered in a few days of scruff. He wore cutoff blue jeans and a tank top to stay cool in the sun. Deep wrinkles betrayed his otherwise youthful face, as if he spent most of the time squinting. When I walked past, we exchanged nods, though I probably looked rather confused, curious of what sounds there were on the street that demanded such equipment to record.
Stuff Cam Wrote 