When he stepped off of the ship onto the shining floors of America, a whole new world of opportunity waited in front of him. He felt the breeze brush past his thin hair and into the San Francisco Bay.

Along with roughly one hundred men, women, and children of similar origins, the young man proceeded into the unknown.

He had been stuffed inside of the S.S. Alaska for sixteen and a half days before reaching the west coast of America. He was housed on the lower deck, crammed next to cargo and other poor workers. The musty air of the cabin had tasted like dust and staleness and even now remained in his mouth. The moment he stepped off of the steamship and onto the glistening grounds of San Francisco, things were supposed to change.

His given name at birth was Jian, a familiar name of Chinese origin. In Chinese culture, the name Jian held multiple meanings, including strong, and healthy. The name was given to him by his parents, as his grandfather also held the same name.

He was a slender individual with dark hair, sharp eyebrows, and even sharper cheekbones. A single man of 26 years, Jian was a figure of moderate height, if not slightly small compared to the other inhabitants of the ship.

Jian waited in the bustling dock of confused faces, and soon reached the front of the line where multiple small stations were arranged to check in the newcomers.

Taking in the crisp aroma of the bay, he shuffled up to the arrival station on the far right, where he was greeted by a heavier man that seemed not the slightest bit eager to see him. Jian handed the man his papers and documentation.

The man had a gray beard and balding head covered by a dull flat cap. He sat aloof in a tired wooden chair and scanned quickly through Jian's papers. All of a sudden, the man abruptly raised his voice and questioned Jian, who had been distracted by a peculiar bird on the dock.

"Date of birth, mister," the man demanded.

"The ninth of February, sir. Eighteen-seventy-nine." 

The bald man in the flat cap marked the documents with a red stamp. Jian curiously glanced over at the mysterious image on his papers. The stamp had words on it. It said #231 and IMMIGRANT. He couldn't seem to decipher the rest.

The man gave him a hesitant look.

"Alright, um, Gene..." the man said. "You can proceed straight ahead and continue to the building behind me."

Jian, confused by the unusual name the man had called him, remained frozen.

"Sir, um, excuse me, well, my name is actually pronounced-"

"Next in line!" the man bellowed.

He didn't even hear Jian's protest, nor did he care. The young immigrant gathered his papers and shuffled over to the somber building as directed. The paper on top contained most of Jian's information and important documentation, with the man's handwriting on it. At the top read the same unfamiliar name that the man had called him.

G-E-N-E.

With a single suitcase by his side, Gene stepped off of the platform of the dock and headed towards the entrance of the small building. He savored each step he took, trying to take in the essence of his surroundings. At that moment, he felt as if everything revolved around him.

He felt the humid autumn day against his rough skin... tasted the spray of saltwater from the dock behind him. He stood in the midst of other immigrants, many of whom had bewildered eyebrows and terror-stricken eyes.

Gene came across a figure at the entrance of the building, a stocky young man with a brown fleece jacket. Waiting patiently at the front, this young man was holding the door open for him. The man stood roughly the same height as Gene, and had a timid look on his thin face. His shirt was already soaked with sweat from the anxiety of the city. His tired cheeks slouched below his eyes, and he looked like he hadn't slept for days. He had no hair on the top of his head, yet small facial hairs covered his chin.

Gene could have sworn that the man was also on the same steamship as he had been, yet he had never spoken to him. He, too, held a small suitcase by his side, like Gene. As Gene passed through the door, he gave a thankful smile of acknowledgement to the young man, and proceeded forward.

However, after a brief moment of thought, the other man dropped the door and hurried to catch up with Gene. He stopped right in front of him, lifted up his weary hand, and looked Gene in the eyes. 

"Bo," the young man said, as he shook Gene's hand with a firm grip.

"I'm, uh... my name's Gene," he said wearily. "You new here?"

"Yup."

"Me too." Gene smiled at Bo, and the two young men continued along their journey through the building. Although the men only exchanged a few words, Gene felt as if he already knew Bo.