By Matt Resder
WEARILY, Hal folded the newspaper and dropped it onto an empty seat beside him. Leaning back, he closed his eyes and drifted into dreamland. Why not?
A chubby schoolteacher with a zest for life, Hal felt incapable of staying awake on this morning’s 30-minute ferry ride to Hong Kong’s Central District from his home village on thinly populated Lamma Island. An all-weekend beach party, complete with loud music, cold brews and occasional dips into the ocean, had left him tuckered, nearly too exhausted to work.
But needing his salary, Hal, a 46-year-old Brit, had awakened in time for his commute. Starring into a bathroom mirror, he’d finger-combed his thin brown hair and tried to rub away new facial wrinkles. Then he’d gulped from a coffee mug and departed. Admittedly, he nearly missed the boat, saved only by a jolting 50-metre sprint along the pier.
Familiar with Hal sleeping, his fellow-commuters paid no heed. But when a strand of wayward drool dripped from the teacher’s mouth and dampened the front of his shirt, he woke up, wiping at his lips.
Through a window, Hal saw the skyscrapers along Victoria Harbor and knew the ferry had almost arrived. The newspaper remained where he’d left it. So did his briefcase on the floor at his feet. That’s what he loved about Lamma. The place had a small-town feel. Everyone behaved honestly. If you lost consciousness on the ferry, no one stole anything.
Once the boat docked, Hal tucked the newspaper into his briefcase and hurried away. Next, he faced a 20-minute ride on the underground Mass Transit Railway.
TO Hal’s surprise, he found a seat on the MTR. Usually, part two of his journey entailed standing-room-only.
Resting on one of the steel benches made him sleepy again. His eyes closed, his head tilted and his body swayed. The train’s motion lulled him.
Minutes passed. More passengers boarded. Others departed. Then an abrupt lurch nearly tossed Hal to the floor. His eyes snapped open. Good grief! How could he have dozed on the MTR? That wasn’t safe. Was he late? He raised an arm to see his wristwatch. But the watch had vanished.
Oh, no! Panicked, Hal leaped to his feet and grabbed at a thigh-pocket for his wallet, but it wasn’t there. Worse, neither were his trousers.
Fearing a heart attack, he clutched at his chest, and his fingers slapped bare flesh. Where was his shirt? Staring down, he spotted his toes and bare feet on the dark floor.
There he stood – dressed only in his underpants. Someone, maybe several people, had robbed him of everything else, including the briefcase.
Hal noticed bemused looks from the other passengers. But no one offered to help.
“Damn it!” Hal grumbled. How could this crime-infested city behave so cruelly? Raising his head to the train’s low ceiling, he screamed in frustration.
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