In Beijing Capital Airport is terminal 3, a pretty place built by Lord Foster. In the middle of terminal 3, tucked out of sight, is a small temple sitting by a pond. The fish watch travellers come and go, and I watch the fish.On a raised platform are two tables, with stools beside. In the centre of each table, a little inkpot, as pictured. Every time I come here, I sit at the table. Every time I sit at the table, I tell myself that the inkpots cannot contain ink. Every time I tell myself that the inkpots cannot contain ink, I get black fingers.I am stubborn, but the inkpots moreso. Neither of us refuses to budge, but the inkpots always win, and my fingers are always blackened.One day, I will win - but not today.I look for a towel to clean my hands.
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