Write Your God ™

It is better to have lived

Funny story— Sharday and I ended up coming back to Shanghai for a few days, but you know this.

We booked an AirBnb and set off on the high-speed train. Once we arrived, we checked our email for a message from our host that we just knew would contain information for accessing the apartment. Our host informed us prior to booking that she was in California and would have one of her friends bring us the keys. We figured we would have instructions by the time we got to Shanghai (considering we arrived after 9p and had booked the room before noon). As we incessantly refreshed our inboxes in a Shanghai Starbucks, we realized the time difference between us and our host and decided that we might as well head to her apartment in hopes that she had left a note on the door for us with info on how to get in.

Once getting off the metro, we had a 15-minute walk to the apartment. The main street was well lit and while many scooters passed us by, not too many people were walking. When we turned onto Xingfu Road where the apartment was, it seemed like all of the lights from the street had suddenly been disconnected and as Sharday described it, we were in Gotham City.

It was dark as shit, with piles of stuff everywhere. To keep going in the direction of the apartment meant we would walk through clotheslines and essentially forego seeing our hands in front of our faces.

Sharday stopped walking and turned around to me. "Ummm, yea, I don't have a good feeling about this," she said.

"Go with your first mind," I said, and instinctively and in unison, we turned around and headed back to the main street.

Sharday took a right.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"To the train station."

"To go where?"

"A hotel."

No sooner than Sharday said that, I looked across the street and saw a sign for the Raddison hotel. Although there were several signs for the hotel along the iron gate, which spanned the street, you could easily miss it in the dark.

I was using my cat eye (*Martin voice*).

We walked down the street to the entrance and entered a compound of villas. The hotel, situated in Shanghai's French Concession (an area once occupied by France), was distinctively European and when we walked through the doors we were greeted by a doorman who spoke English and called us "madam."

"We've had a long day," I said to Webber, the gentleman checking us in.

"I can tell. You don't have a reservation," he said.

We all laughed, and I took two more generous handfuls of mints.

Sharday and I had walked into an oasis. Everything in the lobby was immaculate and when we walked into our room, Sharday belted, "Treat yo' self 2016!" (It's a reference to the show Parks and Recreation, google it and laugh!).

We threw on our terrycloth robes, took off our head wraps, debated opening the two bottles of wine in the room, then decided to treat ourselves!

We took pictures like we were in a Bad Boy video circa 1997. I put on my shades, posted up against the door, one foot on the marble floor and my other foot against the door, holding our wine.

Sharday took the classic squat picture like she was a South Bronx b-girl.

We looked like O.D.B and Miss Celie.

We ordered room service and giggled and sniggled.

Flashback— when we were at the temple, a Chinese man bowed to us and said, "Beautiful."

We smiled. But when we walked away, I joked, "It's about time I got some respect 'round this muthafucka!"

I said the same thing last night as I closed my robe and plopped on the bed.

"I've been giving away my friendship for free for too damn long!" (Another Martin reference).

Today, we are going to a much more affordable hotel.

But we have lived.



P.S. Sharday made me promise never to share the hotel pics. I agreed, but we might have to talk statute of limitations.