There were mandarin oranges everywhere: bouncing down the steps of the Dragon's Gate; rolling onto Grant Street and under cars…an explosion of little dancing orange balls. Kim Wu lay sprawled on the dirty concrete stairs with the wind knocked out of her. The nineteen-year-old hadn’t fallen that hard since she’d taken a header off her bike as a kid. She got to her knees and looked around, but her vision was distorted. What in the hell had just happened? “Are you drunk, young lady?” she asked Kim in Chinese. “High on crack?” “Then you need to take some walking lessons,” the old woman shot back. ***