I reeled my head back, and with violent, uncontrollable contortions, I launched a spray of yellow, soupy duckfoot vomit into the air … I (didn’t see) where my regurgitated lunch had ended up after it’d been blasted from my throat. I booked it out of the now-befouled Chang’an Theater as fast as possible. (My guide) found me fifteen minutes later trying to look as casual as it is possible for a six-foot-two curly-haired white guy to look in a Beijing theater.
