Interlude at Daofu

Daofu was a cluster of lights bubbling up in the belly of a darkened plain. After riding my motorcycle half the night across the southeast corner of the Tibetan Plateau, I pulled into town an hour before midnight and got a room next to the bus depot.

“Clean rooms, very clean,” the hotel manager said with a wink as I stood before him, his insistence making me doubt what I otherwise would not. I wondered if he was talking about the rooms or about some other commodity he purveyed. On the counter was a small aquarium filled with tiny eels and seagrass. The manager’s head was a lopsided potato and he had a mole on his throat with several long strands of hair growing from it. The mole was exactly on the man’s left jugular and pulsed as if it were alive.

People on couch
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