each night I would walk a path in Jiangmen after ten , making way past a homeless beggar and his son about 4-5 years of age, sitting on the sidewalk under the orange glare of shop-lights in the freezing cold wrapped in a stained-green blanket with faded crisscrossing yellow stripes. He was bald, holding a silver bowl in his hand for donations always with his head down. The kid, malnourished. The abject poverty of the rural poor that make way to the city for work is woeful. Invisible shadows on the sidewalk to the moneyed movers passing by. I wondered what future this duo would have. Where are they now? Did the boy grow up and find a job in the Bank of China similar to the one they'd sit out front of each night instead of begging? Or is he working a fifteen hour day, pushing barrow-loads of bricks to build the next big grandiose skyscraper?