ABSTRACT
Evening on Friday, September 23 came lightly in the heart of China’s Wild West, summer’s warmth mixing into cooling autumn air. Bussing down to Nanmen, the southern city center, for the year’s last night-market and a chance to say goodbye over a beer with assorted ex-pats was more than I bargained for. My mind clings to each feature along the route for a last look; I am ready to go home and am consciously being extra cautious: who wants trouble just as they are packing their bags? My evening’s preferences aside, Xinjiang’s problems found me.
