Sin City

It’s windy.

And it’s unusual. Because normally when you exit the building you’d go from crisp cool air to tropical humidity. But this evening it’s windy. You sort of wish that it were this windy or cool as permanent as a corrupt Philippine official. It adds to the mood. Like Christmas without the trees and the lights. A cool breeze that wraps around your body gently. Maybe even giving you some chills as the sweat from your jog runs down your back.


You’re by the bay and it feels like you’re one small pixel in a simulation. Everything looks perfect. The grey-blue of the sky before it turns dark. The different groups of runners that flock around the waterfront. The way the lights are uniformed across several floors of different buildings all around. They are towers of glass and in colors of blue and darker blue.


It feels perfect. But is it, really?

You’re standing or sitting. You’re staring. You have a couple dollar bills of a foreign currency in your wallet. Pieces of plastic and square-shaped business cards. You’re easily identifiable. You walk with the confidence you can afford all the basic things and then some. But you’re also uncertain and highly cautious.

Even with an abundance of positive fortune you worry that it will never be enough.

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