I twacked him on the head with my free arm before quickly latching back onto his bike lest I fell off. After searching throughhalf of the flat, we were dismayed to find only one bicycle that was still in working condition, or at least, Mich was. Nevertheless, we still set out upon the old and creaking bike, with me sitting sideways on the small platform behind.
"Keep your eyes to the road mister and your mouth shut mister,"I growled, "Or you may find yourself with more than a bruise on the head."
"Seriously..." He said, but continued no more as I made a threatening noise in my troat.
The streets were small and snaking in this area, along with various ups and downs. There were small roads leading off into even smaller roads and narrow alleyways no bigger than for a child to pass through. Sometimes, in those narrower areas, wet clothing were hung out to dry, crisscrossing the above with so many bamboo poles that it almost seemed that they formed a continuous, wet, dripping roof overhead; it was too sometimes I wondered if those clothes ever dried.
However, now we were on one of the 'main roads' or so they called it here, it being no wider than a two way line for cars to pass by each other. It was precarious riding on those roads; with cars zooming past no further out than an extended finger on one side, and a deep drain that could swallow a bicycle whole on the other. It was also too, why we often rode on the roads.
Beyond the deep drains, sometimes with a board lain across parallel to serve as a bridge, were various sleepy storefront houses. These flaking two story houses usually served both as a shop and a house, the first story for being the latter and the second former. Mostly, there was a five foot way leaping from storefront to storefront, mainly for people to traverse. And being set back further into the building, these storefronts were usually shrouded in a veil of shadows, giving it an atmosphere of a secret time long past. Family run coffee shops selling nothing more than a hot breakfast were commonplace here; indeed it was such so that people would flock to certain famous shops for that very special yet simple breakfast of eggs, bread, butter and coffee. Of course, there were also many other shops seeking to ply their trade: from saloons to art centres, whether the glass fronts or an open wall, each had its own special service to offer to each traveller that walked past if they would only glance in the right direction.
"Where to?"
He didn't reply, keeping focused on trying to catch his breath. He gave a final push and we were over the incline. Then, accelerating, we swerved right and down one of those one-way lanes. Cycling for no more than several minutes, he turned left at an intersection and down an incline. A sharp jam right again with me clutching on the bicycle for dear life, he braked suddenly. I crashed into him with a yell and scream and into a confused tangle.
"Can't you ride properly?" I said, rubbing my head after it had cracked against Mich's.
He grinned apologetically, "Can't help it."
I shook my head, then turned towards the building we had stopped at. "So this is the place?"
"Um hmm." Mich replied, righting his bicycle and wheeling it past me. "Come on."
It was and open front shop, except that from the faint smell, I suspected and was proved correct that it was a fish store. Row upon row of blue illuminated tanks, with fishes of assorted shapes and sizes swimming about their turquoise environment. From bulbous goldfishes looking out with their equally big eyes, to tiny tetras in small swarms that went this way and that in perfect corordination, and even a few fresh water lobsters twitching their antenne, there was, what I felt, every single type of fish each in their glorified wonder.
"Well kids?" Someone addressed us as we turned around from watching the fishes.
He was in his fourties, late forties I suspected. Dressed in simple bermudas and a singlet, he came towards us with an easy smile reflecting in his eyes. Not exactly well-built, but good enough to do some heavy lifting when the circumstances needed it; he gave an impression of a laid-back store keeper, more interested in his art than selling it.
"Uncle," Mich addressed anybody who was older than himself as such and this man was probably his father's friend, "My father sends his regards."
"Thank him for me then." He replied, his voice a light merry tone, accepting the tin container. He gave it a wiff, "Congee? Thoughtful."
"Erm, we might have mixed up the other incredients slightly, so..."
He gave a laugh, a pleasant sound it was. "They were going to be mixed up anyway so no worries. I'm not particular about my food." Coming back, he continued, "Well I'm going to have it now, no better time then the present as they say; and if I'm not wrong you might be raring to go off somewhere yes?" He quirked an eyebrow, "Teenagers these days..."
"Not really."
"Then you may wish to browse the shop if you wish", he indicated it with a wave of his hand as he turned his back. Probably off to eat in breakfast in peace.
"Who was he?" I asked Mich quietly as soon as he was out of earshot.
I reckoned wrong however, as he whirled around, eyes glinting with humour.
"What? What poor manners you have boy! Not to introduce me to this young lady." He turned to me, face suddenly serious, "I am the student of four honour rolls, degree holder of Organic Studies, friend of many and a trekker of continents. Which do you want to know me by?"
I paused, at a lost of what to say.
"Or" He continued, a smile playing on his lips, "You can call me Dong, One Hand Dong as they call me around here parts."
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