Xu Hong smiles as we wrestle through the front door of his tiny apartment. Jonathan and I are both hunched over from the weight of our backpacks. I’m trying to act like my suitcase isn’t as heavy as it looks, but the beads of sweat forming on my face give me away. When Xu thinks I’m not watching him anymore I catch him exchange wide eyes with his wife, Ming. I don’t need an interpreter to understand. The glance wonders why we have so many things for a brief few months. What are inside these stuffed suitcases and backpacks? I know. Besides the overabundance of the usual clothes and shoes, I have carelessly thrown in any and all items that we might possibly want over the course of our four months. This includes several deodorants, enough socks to make sure we don’t have to do laundry for three weeks minimum and, of course, medications, batteries, alarm clocks, a year’s worth of books, coats, bathing suits and a carbon monoxide monitor. Then I glance out onto their patio, 21 stories up above the ground, and I see Hong and Ming’s yesterday’s clothes hanging to dry. Today’s clothes will be there tomorrow. 1 Column Content Background Color White Ali...