Under Neon Lights In Mong Kok, Hong Kong

At the end of the Ladies’ Market, we walk one street over and unravel another pot of gold on the corner. Three public light buses are parked in queue underneath a haphazard display of flashing neon lights. During the next several minutes, I play chicken with oncoming taxis, public buses and the odd motorbike driver as my boyfriend snaps away, oblivious to the danger I’m putting myself in. Bus drivers on their break puff cigarette smoke out into the night air, an arm hanging languidly out the window, their faces shrouded in the shadows. Middle-aged men sit alone on public benches, eyes fixated on the illuminated square of their smartphone, ignoring the spattering rain and disinterested in the people around them. Gangly, long-legged 20-somethings clad in navy tailored suits stride swiftly on sidewalks, a slick briefcase in one hand and an umbrella in the other. Their tan shoes clip-clop in the night, a steady rhythmic beat against the discord of Hong Kong traffic and its residents, each one a conductor of their own symphony.

I want to eat one more egg waffle before we leave. I’m not even hungry but I feel it’s a must. Seconds later, it’s as if the food gods are looking over me again. We stumble across a cute yellow shop called Mammy Pancake. It appears to be a chain (later I would discover that the franchise was listed in the Michelin Guide in 2016) but I don’t care because they’re promising hot fresh egg waffles in an assortment of flavours. My boyfriend hands me his wallet and rolls his eyes. I’m like a kid at an ice cream store. My choc-chip egg waffle comes out piping hot and I can’t help but give the cashier a huge grin as he hands my dessert over.

The outside of the waffle is crispy thin while the inside is warm and doughy. The choc-chips are the perfect note bringing together a melodic combination of savoury and sweet. My boyfriend has strayed off to my right. I crane my neck to see what he’s snapping with his camera. I follow him, breaking off bits of waffle and stop short. We’re two streets back from Nathan Road now and we’ve hit the jackpot again.

A man sits underneath makeshift marquees surrounded by boxes of fruit and vegetables. I spy rows of bulbous oranges, bushy piles of cabbages and brown lumps that I expect to be potatoes. A blue plastic poncho covers his clothes and another plastic bag adorns his head. Market stall holders are packing up their wares, many with plastic bags over their head too. Further along, a man cuts a lonely figure under a square marquee. An assortment of dated men’s and women’s corporatewear hangs from the rails, the paper sale signs now soggy from the rain. Sitting on a foldout chair, he takes a long draught of his bottled beer, his eyes unmoving from the video on his smartphone. I wonder if he sits in hope of one final sale tonight on this quiet back street.