One thing that came out of the little expedition last weekend was a series of shots of numbers. It all started with this enigmatic photo here, from a tree on Pearl Hill. What did it mean? Was it simply graffiti, or did the numbers have some significance, and for who? Once I started thinking about this, I kept seeing numbers everywhere.


In a park in the financial district, someone had stapled "61-2" to this tree. In fact, every tree in this park had a little label like this. The same puzzling questions. It was almost like eavesdropping on secret writing - or realising you've been kept in the dark, illiterate to a series of messages going on around you.


At the bottom of Pearl Hill, I walked by a truck, looked up, and realised that it had the number "888" on it - good luck for sure, but slightly out of place gracing a truck full of sand. Making it rich ("fa" - and "888" is "fa fa fa", an insistent call for riches) seemed incongruous with hauling sand around the island. The words sound less hopeful and more desparate in this context.


On Amoy Street, I saw this plaque embedded in the wall - but it was the dirty handprint that caught my attention. The two seemed to fit together quite well, the one orderly and clean in its red and white colours, the other messy and smeared.


The same thing for this one here, standing in a scene of construction, red in the midst of concrete and steel greys.



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