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Little Bottle

Little Bottle

Just before the Avenue of Eternal Peace, before the main drag, where Wangfujing whirls off to the right, where the rich can eat McDonalds and stroll amidst the new abundance, stand the snow white headquarters of the China Women’s Organization. The building is nestled between Changan Dasha, where the state theater diligently stages Peking Opera, where on occasion men still play the female roles, and the International Hotel, whose biggest customers are the Americans who come to adopt China’s daughters, whisking them off by the thousand to the land of beauty in exchange for a few pieces of silver that amount to less than they pay for their week-long sojourns in a hotel that has a real fountain in the atrium and a babysitter service.