He’s pointing down at the bottom of the window, no idea why.

So I shout even louder, ENGLISH. DO YOU SPEAK ENGLISH?

At this point, the police station busy with cops and criminals is standing still, getting an eyeful of me and Mr Police Officer here.

I get back a load of eye rolling and some violent huffing, and he’s now pointing like a madman to the bottom of the window, and I look to where he’s pointing but I don’t see anything except a little grey box.

Is this guy deaf?

I’m thinking what kind of idiot hires deaf police officers, and now the whole dumb situation is pissing me off, and Mia is pissing me off, and the stale, rancid air in this place has got me hot and sweating, and before I realize what’s happening I’m yelling and swearing at this pig motherfucker in front of me, and I must be flailing around aggressively because now another Mr Police Officer is shoving my hands behind my back and I feel the cold shock of steel on my wrists.

And then this triad, he’s tattooed all over, holding his shaved head where blood oozes from a dent made by a big blunt object, probably, comes up and points to a little button on the little grey box, which, now that I’m looking at it more closely, turns out to be some sort of intercom-speaker job.

Oh, nice one, I say.

The triad nods at me and goes back to his seat.

Original Mr Police Officer barks again, and then in the universal sign for Fuck off, we’ll deal with you later, has me dragged away past my bench, past the old homeless guy, past the high-class hooker hugging herself.

Let’s skip back a little bit.

Back in the doughnut shop, when Charles Hu says he takes it I’m going to accept his offer, I’m literally about to say, Why yes, I would love to accept your offer, when I feel a hand on my shoulder.

I look at this hand, then the arm it’s attached to, then the shoulder, then the face, and it’s a policeman in a blue shirt and cap.

Right next to him, is the nerdy young guy in the wheelchair and his girl that I, let’s say, innocently hassled into leaving.

This lame couple are pointing at me and talking rapid fire, and next thing I know I’m being hauled up and out of my seat and shoved into a cop car.

How was I supposed to know he was disabled?

Now I’m on my way to a police station in a foreign country where I don’t speak the language, and I left my camera on the table in the cafe.

No playing, how I’m reacting is I’m about to lose my shit, on account of that camera (and the lens on it) costing thousands and thousands of pounds.

I say, Hey, did you pick up my camera in there?

The cops in front ignore me.

Fucking guy. Why didn’t he just do what any normal man would do, sock me one in the face (or balls in this case, ha), bask in the glow of his girlfriend’s adoration and be done with it?

Now I’m sitting on another bench, but this time it’s in a cage.

I’m running through all the terrible scenarios that could happen.

Worst of them all, is I end up back in London.

No lie, I’m just not ready for that.

For sure I would be free and I could do whatever I felt like doing, but I would happily risk time in a Taipei prison for harassment if it meant I could carry on ignoring my old life.

After all, I was the master, Mia had told me, of ignoring things.

You seem pretty fine, she said, when I came home after getting fired from the paper.

I am fine, I said, opening the fridge.

She grabbed her jacket and said, Let’s go.

The tall grass towered and glowed gold as we lay on the ground, staring up at the blue. I watched a cloud dawdle from right to left.

Mia moved to rest her head on my shoulder. Her hair tickled my arm.

For real, Mia had warmth. When I was with her, especially in the quiet moments like this, or after we had sex, I felt like I had warmth too.

Like I’d somehow absorbed it by being next to her, with her, inside her.

You know what it felt like? It felt like all the heavy, joy-sucking douchebag cynicism in me had vacated.

She rolled over and I rested my lips on the downy fuzz at the base of her neck, exposed by her tied-up hair.

My happy place.

I’m sorry you got fired, she said, turning her head towards me. For someone like you, that must be hard to take.

Someone like me?

You know. An overachiever. A perfectionist.

My hot breath bounced off her neck and back onto my mouth. I liked the way it made the fuzz stick to my lips.

I guess, I said.

Actually, I said, it makes me feel like trampled dog shit, replaying the still fresh, still terrible memory of my picture editor giving me the sack.

Mia shuffled her back and her butt into me more, took hold of my arm with her hand.

Love you, she said.

A metallic rattling sound shocks me out of my thoughts.

You, says Mr Police Officer, sheathing his baton. You go now.

He’s looking at me different to the way he did before. Respectful like, the way he’s holding the door open for me, waiting patiently, as though I wasn’t the complete waster he previously thought I was.

What gives? I say.

The cell door clinks closed.