In the office of an old tea factory, the light of the late afternoon reached its arms into the dark space and illuminated that which had not been lit in what appeared to be a long time. It caught on cobwebs, it bore itself across the unswept floor, and shuddered with the crash of children's voices. Resting on papers, it revealed that everything had been left of a sudden, and had waited with its breath held.
Once seated, once accustomed to the shadows, the familiar rattle of the kettle sounded as one, two, three, four small cups were laid before us. Rolled oolong tea tinkled as it emptied it into the cracked and charred pot. 'This will be the most honest tea we've had all week' I thought to myself as I watched the man warm the cups and toss away the first infusion, prepare the second, and push a cup towards me in offering.