A Thousand Dreams of Leslie
<p><strong>This essay was originally published in Issue #4 “ACROSS 岸”. Order a copy now on </strong><a href="https://www.blurb.com/b/7898051-sin-4-across" rel="noopener ugc nofollow" target="_blank"><strong>BLURB</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>
<p>On April Fool’s Day, 2003, Leslie Cheung sat alone on the balcony of his room on the twenty-fourth floor of the Mandarin Oriental Hotel, observing the bustling streets of Hong Kong far below. He ordered a glass of orange juice, and soon afterwards, requested a pen and some paper from the<br />
receptionist. After about an hour, against the backdrop of a beautiful sunset over Victoria Harbour, Leslie climbed over the railing and leapt to his death.</p>
<p>It was shocking, amazing, and absolutely horrible. An immense outpouring of sorrow spilled out from fans around the world at the premature death of their beloved star. Leslie was a legendary artist, Hong Kong’s greatest male diva, who had managed two tremendously successful music and film careers — and he had now left the world stunned.</p>
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