Just outside some kind of valve factory, and down the street from the crematorium, the farmers dry corn on the dusty roads near my school in a southern district of Beijing. Cars and small trucks rumble by occasionally, leaving a trail of exhaust that settles on top of the dust on top of the corn.

I naively, optimistically, asked a woman who was spreading the kernels with a broom — for better drying — if the corn was going to be pig feed. She said no, and gestured to me and back to her, confirming my fear: people feed.


About chinaenglish

I'm an American teaching in China
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