Rising Tiger

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Jake Adams got off the metro train car at the Jiantan Station and immediately saw the massive Shilin Night Market outside the platform, a sea of people flowing like blood cells through veins. He had been riding the MRT system much of the day, familiarizing himself with the city and the various colored lines, and trying to adjust from the jet lag after his flights from Costa Rica to San Francisco and then to Taiwan. He had to admit that he was beat. When he was younger he seemed to be able to make flights across the oceans without much of a problem. Of course he would usually drink himself to sleep and wake up refreshed. But now he rarely drank on flights, other than water.

Somehow he expected Taiwan to be much warmer in February. Now he shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and slowly wandered down the stairs to street level. It wasn’t like he could blend in to any Asian street scene, but he wore blue jeans, a baseball hat he had purchased that morning, pulled down to cover as much of his face as possible, and wrapped a scarf around his neck. His only exposed skin was his eyes to his chin — enough to give him away as a non-local upon close inspection.

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