Standing on a platform across from Dawang Breakfast, a woman stared at me without saying a word. Later, when I went inside for breakfast, I learned she was the owner of a nearby hot pot restaurant. After I finished eating, I spoke with her. She first asked which company I was advertising for, then said she supported using actions like this to make people think.
At the intersection by Shuanglian Station, a man waiting at the red light on his bicycle read the sign for a while, then sneered and said, “Very creative.”
Along the path from Shuanglian toward Minquan West Road, a man in his thirties stopped his bike and asked if this was a protest, and whether I was doing it alone or with a group. He said he moved up from Tainan a few years ago and that rent just keeps going up every year. He added that even the south is expensive now. There’s no going back.

Two fruit vendors in the market said there’s so much in this society that needs to change, but it never seems to. One mentioned her son-in-law works for the U.S. Treasury. She said that in Taiwan, hard work alone isn’t enough; without background or connections, it’s hard to move forward. Before parting, we wished each other well.
A man smoking on a bench beside the path asked what real estate agency I was with and said my boss must be cruel to make employees do this. Then he told me not to think too much about it; in life, sometimes you just have to change your mindset and accept things as they are. By the end of our conversation, my eyes grew red, though I couldn’t tell if it was from anger or despair. He said he used to feel just as indignant when he was young and told me to hang in there.
Near Minquan West Road Station, a young man followed me for a while before catching up to ask if the sign was an actual rental listing. He lived nearby with his family but had rented before. He said he understood the frustration of renting in Taipei, but most people don’t talk about it, thinking it wouldn’t make a difference anyway. He said he thought what I was doing was cool.
Just after dashing through a green light at a small alley, a woman hurried up and asked what I was doing, my salary, and my day job. She said she thought I was brave and even touching, then asked if I’d consider joining her insurance company—she was in HR. Before leaving, she gave me her contact information. To my surprise, I ended up being the one pitched instead.

I first wrote down a tenant’s rental search criteria on one board: a window that opens, not a rooftop addition, not a basement, not a haunted house, no leaks or wall cancer, a bathroom with a door, and rent equal to one-third of a monthly salary. At the bottom I wrote: “No search results found.” On another board, I wrote typical landlord advertising phrases: “magic space,” “creative layout,” “open-style bathroom,” “bed right at the door,” and similar marketing clichés. I hung the two boards front and back on my body, becoming a sandwich man.
After buying water at a convenience store near Zhongshan Station, an older woman who spoke in a polished way, asked me which real estate agency I was with. Then she asked to take a photo, saying she found it interesting. She took a quick photo and hurried off.
As I walked along the Xinzhongshan belt park, three construction workers across the road shouted to each other, “Is it advertising? Must be advertising!” I walked closer so they could read the boards I was carrying. They advised me to walk slower so people could actually see what it said. After that, I switched to a very slow pace and stayed for at least five light cycles at each intersection.

At the intersection from Minquan West Road to Zhongshan Elementary School, a Korean photographer who also writes poetry approached to ask about the project. He said he’d lived in Taipei for three years and that though rent in Seoul is also high, Taipei is worse when compared to average salaries.
An old man who sells chewing gum under the overhang on Linsen North Road beckoned me over. He said he and his son could split a rental with me. He currently lives in a place where eight people share one bathroom, at NT$8,000 a month. He’s been making dumplings for fifty years, but after injuring his leg in an accident, he feels he doesn’t have much longer to live. He asked if I’d consider dating his 33-year-old son and insisted I call him to say hello. The son later messaged to apologize. They struck me as a sweet father-son pair.
In front of Changhua Bank, an older man asked whether I was looking for or offering a rental. He was a landlord who rented out a two-bedroom on Minsheng East Road to an affluent older tenant for NT$30,000. He said lowering the rent wasn’t possible. Before he left, he told me to wear more clothes. (Later, when I shared this, the owner of Dawang Breakfast said I should have told him I couldn’t afford clothes because all my money went to rent.)
Scooter riders kept looking at me as they rode past. Sometimes I worried they might fall. People on bicycles always seemed more curious than others.
Special thanks to Chifeng Allies: Coffee Dumbo, and Dawang Breakfast.

Taipei the devourer

Keep the key for me