“Are you wearing underwear?” was the first question they asked. The sense of comfort was fleeting.
‘I’m... not sure.’ was my reply.

Part One

The onset of summer that year had left me giddy and old-school gay.
As a celebration to the sun God I had sacrificed my socks and underwear.
This was symbolic; throwing off the shackles of my winter dictator whilst simultaneously reaffirming my allegiance to the sun, placing my unshakeable trust in him.

Now was November though.
A glimmer of underwear wearing hope existed.
I peered inside my trousers.
Success.

Their laughter was further fuelled when I had to empty my pockets.
The valuables were: receipts covered in illegible scrawl and rice wine bottle tops. The rest was rubbish. I never carried a wallet because I was poor. Having all your money in one place means you can never live in hope that the discarded pair of trousers on the floor might contain a few dollars .

They threw some clothes at me, telling me to change in front of them.
A blue jumper with some matching sweat pants were provided.
Paradoxically, it matched the fashion stylings of a semi-serious jogger or a disgustingly obese person dependent on a mobility scooter to re-supply their pie supply.
I cursed myself for choosing today of all days to wear underwear.
Making the observers feel uncomfortable about their Asian baby-makers would have scored a small consolation goal.

The next part would be interrogation.
Having known this incarceration was inevitable I already had a basic story manufactured. It’d be facile to adlib the blanks without slipping up and compromising the previous lies. My brain's greatest attributes are the ability to get me in and out of trouble. Which, when balanced out leaves me with basically nothing.

They opened a locked door which lead to an airlock of sorts. Only when the first door had been fully secured would the next be opened. Upon entry I scanned around for my interrogators.
There was nothing.
No-one.
No explanation.
Could it be a psychological tactic? To increase the waiting time and with it the nerves. There were four picnic type benches lined in a row. Along the wall was a payphone. I could see other, smaller rooms. One was adjacent to this. Another two branched off to the side down a small passageway. Inside these rooms were others dressed identically to myself.