In August, the air in Hong Kong takes on a life of its own. The winds weep with so much moisture that it often feels suffocating. On one of those stifling days, I welcomed a sweaty handyman into my flat. The tanned, smiling, 30-something stranger was there to dismantle a spare bed that I was hoping to sell.
As he removed the nails from the bed frame, he asked: "So you've been out on the streets, eh?"