bangkok: part 2


There was a sidewalk full of fragile clutter, and I wondered if anybody ever woke up one morning and thought, You know what, I need a multi-colored fish wind chime, a plate with an elephant, a set of smiling wooden cats with painted-on whiskers. While waiting for our car at the intersection, I looked up and saw lights hanging from a tree. I imagined them twiddling their invisible thumbs or tapping their feet against nothing; they spend so much time anticipating their turn to shine. On our second night it rained, suddenly and hard, and from where we stood the streets looked slick with blood and tears. There was a woman braving the downpour walking towards us, her reflection dancing on the ground—we will never speak the same words. 

Tourists must seem so unbearably strange to people who have loved a place all their lives.