PANDA IN NEW YORK

The cargo truck rolled through the countryside, rattling over every bump in the road.

Inside the back of the truck, between several boxes and a few suspiciously large sacks, something moved.

A small red paw emerged.

Then another.

A red panda climbed out from behind the cargo and sat quietly.

He was about the size of a racoon, walked upright like a human, and wore simple clothes that looked as though they had survived several adventures without ever being washed.

Across his shoulder rested a long wooden stick.

At one end of it hung a small sack.

The panda adjusted the sack and looked around.

Nobody noticed him.

He smiled.

“Summer times.”

The truck eventually arrived at a busy harbor.

People moved around everywhere. Workers shouted. Crates were being loaded. Engines roared. Metal clanged against metal.

The panda simply walked through all of it.

Nobody stopped him.

Nobody even looked twice.

He approached a large cargo ship and climbed aboard.

Still unnoticed.

He found a quiet corner near the side of the ship, sat down, untied his little sack, and pulled out a handful of berries.

He popped one into his mouth.

“Mmm.”

He looked out at the sea.

Then he began humming.

“Hmm-hmm-hmm…”

The ship slowly left the harbor.

The panda ate his berries, swung his legs, and watched the waves.

Every now and then, he looked around.

Nobody was paying attention to him.

He seemed perfectly happy with that.

Hours passed.

The sea stretched endlessly around the ship.

The panda finished his berries, put the remaining ones back into his sack, and rested his head against the wall.

“New York,” he murmured.

He smiled.

“Sounds expensive.”

The journey continued.

Eventually, the ship arrived.

New York.

The panda stepped down from the cargo ship and stood at the harbor.

People were everywhere.

Cars moved along the streets.

Workers carried boxes.

Tourists hurried past.

Nobody noticed the red panda standing among them.

He looked around.

Then he stretched.

His arms went up.

His back bent.

His legs stretched.

His entire body twisted.

“Ahhhhhhh…”

CRACK!

His back popped.

The panda froze for a second.

Then sighed with satisfaction.

“Much better.”

He took a deep breath.

The air visibly entered his mouth and nose in a cartoonishly exaggerated stream.

He puffed his cheeks.

Then breathed out.

A little cloud of air floated away.

He smiled.

Finally, he spread both arms wide.

He looked toward the sky.

“WELCOME ME, NEW YORK!”

People continued walking.

The panda shouted louder.

“FOR THE BAD BOY IS HERE!”

Someone somewhere in the crowd shouted back.

“SHUT UP!”

Another voice immediately followed.

“YEAH!”

The panda's eyes widened.

A huge grin spread across his face.

He slowly lowered his arms.

“…They love me.”

With newfound confidence, he walked toward the street.

A taxi was parked nearby.

The panda stopped.

He stared at the sign.

CHINATOWN.

He narrowed his eyes.

“China…”

He tilted his head.

“…T-own?”

He nodded.

“China T-own. Oh, so it means T from China owns this town. Hmph, that would be easy, he's a native after all. Lucky T."

Apparently satisfied with his discovery, he opened the taxi door and climbed inside.

“China T-own, please.”

The driver looked at him through the mirror.

There was a brief silence.

Then the driver shrugged.

“Sure.”

The panda leaned back.

New York was already treating him well.

The taxi eventually stopped in Chinatown.

The panda stepped out, adjusted the sack hanging from his stick, and looked around.

“Ah.”

He smiled.

“China T-own.”

He began walking.

A busy road stood between him and the other side of the street.

Cars sped past.

One after another.

The panda looked at the road.

Then looked at the other side.

Then he simply walked.

A car nearly hit him.

The panda casually stepped around it.

Another car honked.

He didn't even turn.

A cyclist swerved around him.

The panda continued walking as though he were strolling through his own backyard.

He reached the other side.

He didn't look back.

Apparently, today was one of his nine lives.

Or perhaps all nine had been packed into his sack.

He continued down the street.

That's when he saw him.

A man in his thirties was walking out of a market with several grocery bags.

He wore a simple shirt.

Printed across the front were the words:

COME TO HOME SWEET HOME.

The panda stopped.

His eyes followed the man.

He looked at the shirt.

Then at the man.

Then back at the shirt.

His face lit up.

“Oh? This must be Mr T. The owner of this town..."

The man kept walking.

The panda followed.

The man turned left.

The panda turned left.

The man crossed the street.

The panda crossed the street.

The man entered a building.

The panda entered behind him.

Neither of them said a word.

The man didn't notice.

The panda simply followed him as casually as a child following his father through a shopping mall.

Eventually, the man reached his apartment.

He unlocked the door.

Walked inside.

The panda followed.

The door closed behind them.

Still, the man hadn't noticed.

He placed his groceries on the table.

The panda placed his little sack beside them.

The man walked over to his chair and sat down.

He leaned forward.

Placed his palm over his face.

He sighed.

“Long day.”

Silence.

The panda looked around the room.

He scratched his chin.

Then spoke.

“Errrr…”

The man didn't move.

The panda looked toward the kitchen.

“How is this home supposed to be sweet when there's no food, Mr T?”

The man's hand slowly dropped from his face.

His eyes widened. He turned around.

Standing upright on his table was a red panda. Wearing clothes. Carrying a sack. Looking directly at him.

The man's mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

The panda smiled.

“Hi.”

The man screamed.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

He jumped out of his chair.

The panda jumped too.

“What?!”

“WHY IS THERE A TALKING PANDA IN MY HOUSE?!”

The panda looked around.

Then pointed at himself.

“Me?”

“YES, YOU!”

“Oh.”

The man grabbed the nearest thing he could find.

A chopstick.

He held it in front of himself with both hands.

“STAY BACK!”

The panda stared at the chopstick.

The man trembled.

“If you make one move, I swear I'll stab your eye!”

The panda slowly looked at him.

Then at the chopstick.

Then back at him.

“You're shaking.”

“I'm not!”

“You definitely are.”

“SHUT UP!”

The man's voice cracked.

The panda took one small step forward.

The man immediately took three steps backward.

“DON'T MOVE!”

The panda stopped.

“Okay.”

A pause.

“Can I have dinner?”

“GET OUT!”

“But I'm hungry.”

“GET OUT!”

“I traveled all the way from China.”

“I DON'T CARE!”

“I crossed the ocean.”

“OUT!”

“I almost died on the road.”

“You crossed the road without looking!”

The panda blinked.

“…How did you know?”

“GET OUT!”

A few moments later, the man managed to push the panda outside.

The door slammed shut.

The man leaned against it.

He breathed heavily.

Finally.

Peace.

He turned around.

Took one step toward his room.

Then stopped.

A strange sound came from outside.

A sad melody.

The man slowly looked toward the window.

The panda was standing in the rain.

His head was lowered.

His little sack lay beside him.

The man stared.

The panda began singing.

“♪ I only wanted food… ♪”

The man closed his eyes.

“No.”

“♪ I traveled so far… ♪”

“Don't.”

“♪ And nobody loves me… ♪”

“Please stop.”

The panda slowly fell backward.

THUD.

He lay completely still.

His tongue rolled out.

The man stared at him through the window.

“…Is he dead?”

Nothing.

The man hesitated.

He opened the door slightly.

The panda suddenly lifted his head.

“COUGH! COUGH!”

The man jumped.

The panda raised his left arm toward the sky.

“Ah…”

He coughed again.

“I… only wanted…”

Another dramatic cough.

“…food.”

He looked toward the man with sorrowful eyes.

“Poor me.”

Then his arm fell.

His head dropped.

His tongue came out again.

“Bleh.”

The man stared.

A long silence followed.

He rubbed his forehead.

“Fine.”

The panda's eyes opened.

“Come inside.”

The panda immediately sprang to his feet.

He grabbed his sack and sprinted through the doorway.

“THAT'S MORE LIKE IT!”

The man stared at him.

The panda sat comfortably at the table.

The man closed the door.

He turned around.

The panda was already examining the kitchen.

“I thought you wouldn't say it.”

The man's eye twitched.

The panda looked at him.

“So…”

He smiled.

“What's for dinner this evening?”

The man exploded.

“SHUT YOUR MOUTH, ASSHOLE! I'LL COOK YOU!”

The panda blinked.

The man stood there breathing heavily.

The panda calmly leaned back.

“Hey, chill, old guy.”

“Old guy?!”

“Do you know who I am?”

The man stared at him.

He slowly looked the panda up and down.

Then sighed.

“No.”

The panda straightened.

His expression suddenly became serious.

The room seemed to grow quiet.

The panda stood on the chair.

He placed one paw against his chest.

“My name…”

He paused dramatically.

“My name is Panda.”

The man waited.

The panda's eyes narrowed with theatrical intensity.

“I am Panda of the Chinese Seven Bamboo Sticks…”

He lifted his wooden stick.

“…wanderer of the Eastern Roads…”

He swung the stick over his shoulder.

“…master of the sacred sack…”

He tapped the sack.

“…traveler of the great ocean…”

He pointed toward the window.

“…survivor of countless dangers…”

He paused.

Then slowly raised one paw.

“…and legendary conqueror of hunger!”

The man stared at him.

The panda grinned.

“My family name…”

Another dramatic pause.

“…is Moustache.”

The man blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Then his face crumpled.

He burst out laughing.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

The panda's smile disappeared.

The man grabbed his stomach.

“MOUSTACHE?!”

“Stop laughing.”

“YOUR SURNAME IS MOUSTACHE?!”

“It's a respectable surname!”

“HAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“Stop!”

The man nearly fell out of his chair.

The panda folded his arms and puffed out his cheeks.

He was visibly offended.

Not furious.

Not dangerous.

Just the kind of offended someone gets when their friend finds the one thing that embarrasses them.

“It's not funny.”

The man laughed even harder.

The panda looked away.

“…I don't like you.”

The man wiped tears from his eyes.

“Good.”

The panda glanced at him.

Then quietly muttered,

“Can I still have dinner?”

The man stared at him.

The panda smiled.

And that was how Panda's life in New York began.