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A middle aged expatriate living in China drowns his sorrows in Guangzhou, China after a woman he has wooed online defrauds him of money and fails to show up at their first date. Despite his bitterness, he maintains his obsession with the simulacra of his fantasy lover whose image starts to haunt him.
The Ghost of Guangzhou was published in Ramingo’s Porch literary magazine in February 2018. The following is an excerpt:
John sank his fourth double Jack Daniels and Coke of the evening, as people generations his junior whooped and waved their hands in the air. He was slumped at a tiny table in the ‘Jhttp://www.certifieddatingsites.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/romance_scams1.jpguicy Jacks’ bar located by the Pearl River in Guangzhou. He was claustrophobic and depressed in this tawdry temple of ephemeral enjoyment that probably wouldn’t last any longer than his failed romance with Wanda. Its owners would close down and cut losses when rents got too high, or when all the money harvestable from the venture had been grasped. Bars in China were like children born in the English industrial revolution: their infant mortality rate was high. Few lasted more than a couple of years before dying out and being stripped of their gaudy optics, stools, tables and cockroach-infested refrigerators by the next retail speculator.
He was nauseated by the deafening thuds of the bass beat and monotonous noises of the tracks being played by the generic party animal foreign DJs who turned the tables, leered constantly and incited the customers to become sensation zombies. The surroundings were not conducive to emotional healing. The concentration of table lamps, technicolour stage lights and dazzling bar optics was giving him a headache, and the way the tables were bunched together with the large number of people in the club it was difficult to move. Logical exits were blocked by partitions and hideous, gargoyle type masks hung on the walls as an idea for decoration which completed the grotesque interior of this ‘pleasure and entertainment’ establishment. So much for fengshui when it comes to Chinese bars, he thought in his drunk and nihilistic state of mind.
WHO IS READY TO JUMP? The puzzling question came from a techno track selected by the scrawny, reversed baseball cap wearing Chinese DJ ‘in the house’ who stood expressionless by his turntable and twisted knobs like an assembly-line machine operator. His Slavic colleague was exhorting people to jump higher and higher with each refrain of the song, and the clientele followed his instructions. The young, energized international customers jumped clasping their over-priced drinks and put their fucking hands in the air according to the song’s only lyrical variation. Put your fucking hands in the air. He shook his head. When exactly had these potty-mouthed lyrics made the meaningful songs extinct? He couldn’t remember, but was certain cultural regime-change was one of those processes that slithered along for years unnoticed until its final, shocking product stared you in the face. The customers grimaced, twisted their limbs and reached out to the DJs as if they were gods and the punishing, pulverising beat pummelled their brains.
The full story is available in Issue 2 (Love Spring Revolution) of Ramingo’s Porch
https://www.amazon.com/Ramingos-Porch-Issue/dp/0998847674/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1519302054&sr=8-1&keywords=Ramingo%27s+Porch&dpID=51tnZb3q7hL&preST=_SY291_BO1,204,203,200_QL40_&dpSrc=srch