The scorching heat of Chongqing began to slowly simmer down as I walked out the gates of school…. Hell. The cries and screams of children faded as I changed my focus from the ABCs to cheeseburgers and Coke. I crept home, bags under my eyes. It was Friday, and all I wanted to do was eat, watch TV, and screw before falling asleep. I entered my apartment building, turned the corner, and stood in front of an elevator. I could feel the stickiness of the up button before I even pressed it. I grabbed my phone and found 10 notifications waiting for me. “Wanna hook up?” one read next to a picture of abs. The abs were nice, but I was craving a stocky guy that night. “Fuck you,” another read next to a picture of my ex as of 12 that afternoon. “I miss you,” another read next to a picture of my mom. The sound of footsteps could be heard from the hallway. Whoever it was, they were about to round the same corner as me and find a white guy. One of two things would happen: either they would stare, or they would stare and ask questions, and I hoped for neither. A teenager appeared with the same bags under his eyes. I wonder if he had to deal with screaming kids at his school, or if he was just exhausted from studying for the Gakao. He noticed me for a moment and then brought his attention to the same sticky button I pressed earlier. A wave of relief washed over his face as he realized that the white sucker standing next to him pressed it instead. The elevator began its slow descent. I fix my attention back onto my phone. While the hopes of not being stared at were crushed, not being spoken to was still a possibility.  “How are you?” he asked, trembling. Well, that hope didn’t last long. “Fine,” I said, checking the status of my cheeseburger and answering a message from a stocky guy. “I’m learning English, but it’s not so good,” he said with a gulp. “It’s fine,” I replied, my focus still on my phone. “Thanks for talking to me,” he said. I looked up from my phone to find a faint smile on his face. I put my phone away and checked which floor the elevator was on. “Do you like cheeseburgers?” I asked. “Yeah, but my mom won’t let me eat them, she says I’ll get fat,” he said. “She’s right. I miss my mom,” I said. “You should call her then,” he said. The elevator doors opened, and we both got on. My phone rang; it was my mom.