The fourth day was not the fourth day, nor was it a Sunday, but instead it was the day Marv took us to the Hong Kong Yacht Club. Like boats on a mooring, the events connected to and surrounding these concrete moments floated and revolved, refusing placement in any temporal schema, instead wandering toward the next stable event, only to hit the end of their ropes and change directions. It was 4:45 a.m., and a drunken Ray, a German college student still on his arm, was yelling at me for not doing the tracking shot he wanted, and it was simultaneously an afternoon where he sweet-talked his way into letting us film in a restaurant during their dinner rush.