I was strolling with my child along a roadside arcade. This street ran along the very edge of the small town where I’d spent my entire childhood. At the end of the road stood a bridge (fairly old) across Xindian Creek to Taipei. The ground seemed to drop away beneath my feet as I walked, but actually it was the bridge that was rising. Cars, scooters, and buses zoomed past my shoulders, then my head. I kept going. At the end of the arcade were a rundown tire shop, an animal hospital, an old-fashioned convenience store, and so on, and beyond them a high embankment. When we were kids, this was mounds of earth studded with goose-egg pebbles and covered in green moss.