The reflexologist exhales hard then starts working on my heart reflex point. I do not flinch. I squirm in pain as he kneads the point that corresponds to my lungs.
Two girls chat loudly in the next cubicle. “Next year, we should do Tibet.” “I won’t go there. Not unless the Chinese stop oppressing,” the other voice trails off to an ecstatic “ahh.”
I open my eyes and see my Chinese reflexologist intent on my sole. I feel short of breath.