It was the hot air getting off the plane,
the dramatic contrast of climates
just several hundred kilometers could make.
What meaning is there anymore
for two people to be on the same land
if the feeling can be so foreign,
if the atmosphere could feel countries, or kingdoms, apart?
It was never the noise, nor the people,
but always the motion sickness inside a taxi—
the stagnant interior of an insufficiently air conditioned heart break
and the arrhythmia of this city's traffic;
It’s the ebb and flow of this city,
the heroes and the villains you become in this city,
that you miss.
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