What about Queens, New York?

The air seemed thick, mixed with a familiar smell - the strange smell of a large amount of Chinese food. This is not surprising, because now we are standing on a small street, flanked by two of the largest Chinese restaurants I have ever seen. It's past midnight, but Queens is close to my original neighborhood of Manhattan, so I came anyway. Now I imagine that if I could fly up and over these restaurants that looked like warehouses, I should still be able to see the light of Manhattan's financial district. Unfortunately, in reality, I was stuck on a narrow street with high cinderblock walls that didn’t even look like a New York street. Chinese newspapers were scattered everywhere on the floor, as well as advertising flyers and used takeaway lunch boxes. The cinder block walls were covered with posters of the latest and most popular Chinese celebrities, as well as advertisements for other Chinese restaurants in Queens. If I didn't have a certain understanding of this place, I might have thought I was in Hong Kong.

"Right there. Directly ahead."

The children beside me who led me through the narrow passage reinforced my feeling. His name is Douglas Qian. He is short but strong, with dark hair and walks with slightly O-shaped legs. He is of Chinese descent and was born just a few blocks down the street, in the heart of Chinatown, Queens. Even though his family has lived in the area for three generations, he comes across as very much in tune with Malcolm's description of him - "fresh off the boat." I guess this may be because in Queens, no matter when the immigrant ship arrived, the Chinese community here still recreated the same living environment as in their homeland, but that was what they had gone to great lengths to escape from. environment.

"That's the wooden door, behind the trash can."

The child was pointing to a very narrow pedestrian aisle sandwiched between two huge piles of dirty things. in the middle of the trash can. When I got close, I couldn't help coughing, so I approached him and asked, "Is it safe here?" Qian smiled at me. His teeth were really ugly, completely yellow, and pointed in all directions. But he had a kinder face, so I persuaded myself not to dislike him because of his teeth.

"It's not very safe. But as long as you follow me, nothing will happen."

After saying that, he gave me a thumbs up, as if he was very confident. I smiled back at him, pretending that I felt relieved after hearing his words. Then he led me to find a way among the trash cans. On the other side of the street he mentioned, there was indeed a tall wooden door. There was no handle on the door, just a slot halfway up the front. At this time, Qian looked at me from top to bottom, and then sighed.

"Try not to look so white."

After saying that, he took a step forward and knocked on the wooden door with his knuckles.

At first there was no reaction inside, but after a while the slot slid open, and a pair of women's eyes appeared behind it. It is a pair of Chinese eyes, with the corners of the eyes slanting downward. The woman looked first at the money, then at me. At this time, her eyes widened, showing obvious surprise. Then her eyes seemed to return to their previous state.

She said a few words in Chinese about the money. Qian's answer seems to be very long. The conversation between the two lasted about 5 minutes. Finally Qian suddenly turned to me angrily.

"Unbutton your pants."

I stared at him in surprise: "What did you say?"

Qian pointed at my crotch.

"Unbutton your pants. Show him your dick."

I'm still not sure I heard clearly. I moved a little, looked back at the street behind me, then back to face him.

"What do you want me to do?"

He put his hands on his hips impatiently, then turned his head and motioned for me to look at the slot on the door over there.

"Mama-san thinks you're a cop. But if you show her your dick, she'll know you're not."

This sounds so ridiculous , but I don’t know why it seems to make sense. I'm white, and I'm about the same age as a police officer would be here, and right now in this part of Queens, the white people on the street are either police officers or tourists who just can't find their way around. But in any case, this request is too much. Qian kept tapping his feet, becoming more and more impatient.

"Do you want to go in? If you don't let her see, she won't let you in."

This is obviously too absurd, but I guess some reporters may have encountered worse situations in order to obtain good news materials. I lowered my hands helplessly and unbuckled my belt, then unzipped it. My hands were shaking and my face was red as I pulled my pants down to expose myself to others. The woman behind the door looked carefully through the door slot, confirming that what she saw was enough to dispel her doubts, and then nodded.

"Okay. Not the police. No problem."

Then I heard the door lock being unlocked, and then the door opened.

I hurriedly tied my pants back on and followed the money in. The front room was carpeted and ugly cushioned benches lined the walls. There is a table in the corner of the room, and behind it is a passage blocked by a curtain, which leads to the inner room. The walls of the room were dirty and cinder block with no exterior wrap. The ceiling was low, and a pair of hanging light bulbs provided light to the room, but the wires ended precariously between two hot water pipes.