I came home and found the note. ‘Home’, then, was Guan-Yin’s apartment, one of several she had, this one near Schaarbeek in Brussels. The note was in her writing. All it was was an address. No instructions. No signature. Just an address, near Brussels Noord. I recognized the street; it was in the roze wijk,…

“We are the Dragon,” Guan-Yin philosophized over the Go board. I never minded such lectures; I found them as beautiful as I found the game, as beautiful as I found the player. Serene, calm, and a meditation in layers upon layers of complexity. “And yet we are not. Individually we are lacking; collectively we are…

“You are not angry.” It was a lofty claim, even from Guan-Yin, whose wisdom I had come so to admire. Lofty, indeed, considering that I was red-faced, teeth bared, shouting, and threatening her with a kitchen knife. That seemed pretty ‘angry’ to me.