At first I thought it was something in my head, like a dream you can’t shake during the day, or a memory of something that hasn’t happened. Something akin to madness, I reasoned. So I consulted a therapist. My life, I told her, reminds me of a Chengdu market, with the vendor women leaning in, shouting the only phrase I know in Chinese: “Want?” “Don’t want?” The message is clear. Take it, or move on. Only I can’t tell what’s being offered. Food items? Cleaning products? Salvation?