Everyone on Zhoahua Road knows me. I’m the foreigner who swags down the street, camera in hand, and photographs litter, chopsticks, and everything in between.
We’re on our way to Huangshan, eleven hours away, once we visit our street noodle lady and donate yet another 15 kuai to her piggy bank. Our train tickets were bought erroneously, but mistakes are necessary to keep one grounded. Good thing I’m invincible.