The ripper was not there. Her patch of dirty pavement was clear of the usual tools of her trade - knife, plastic dustbin, chipped enamel plate - but the blood stains remained on the concrete. I hurried past, thanking my stars that, for once, I was to be spared the sight of spurting arteries at the start of my day.
I live in a miniature city on a staircase. Shing Wong Street is an old Hong Kong town that exists on a series of stone steps, rising all the way from the Western end of Queen's Road, to Caine Road, where Central turns into Mid-Levels. As I stroll down the steps every morning, on my way to Sheung Wan MTR, an old cliche, originally uttered about newspapers, pops into mind: All of human life is here.
Most of the buildings are ancient three or four-storey tenements. In typical Hong Kong fashion, there is no division between residential dwellings and work places. Several old houses have small factories on the ground floor.
The economy of this staircase town is based on printing. The younger men work on old-fashioned presses in rooms on either side of the steps. The doors are always open, and you can see old presses churning out documents.
Toothless old ladies sit outside on the steps doing piecework, such as tying gold threads on to gift tags. Low overheads? No overheads.
The first crossroads we reach is where the Shing Wong steps cross Bridges Street, site of a polling station where residents vote for the Democratic Party at every election.