From Eat a Bowl of Tea, a novel

One Saturday several months before the wedding, the day had broken humid and muggy. Heavy rains had splashed the sidewalks of New York intermittently during the night. The month of May had just ended. Chong Loo, the rent collector, hobbled down the flight of stairs to the Money Come club house in the basement at 87 Mott Street in New York’s Chinatown. “No money!” Wang Wah Gay, the proprietor, greeted the agent as he came through the door. “Wow your mother. No money today. You come back.” “All right, uncle, all right,” said Chong Loo. “I’ll be back on the