I took the C-train down to 17th Avenue with the intention of seeing Dr. Lung for acupuncture again, but when I got there his office was locked up, and old newspapers covered the windows. I peeked through a patch of glass that hadn’t been covered in paper. His desk and chairs and all the paintings and Buddhas were gone. There was a bucket and mop in the corner of the room, a bloated garbage bag and a crushed coffee cup. Nothing else. It was like he had never even been there. I wandered around downtown, feeling empty. Then I tripped and almost fell over some baskets outside a vintage clothing store. The baskets were full of scarves. They were three for ten dollars, so I bought three. One was burnt orange with lines of gold thread running through it. One was black with Chinese dragons embroidered on it. The third was made of silk, with a gorgeous sunset scene and silhouettes of trees on it. I felt a sharp pang in my heart when I read the label, which said Handpainted on Stellar’s Island, British Columbia.
