it smells of incense and asphalt and open drains and rotting flowers here. i woke up and heard prayers

at six in the morning it’s still dark. each day i’ve gone for a walk first thing, while it’s still cool. today it was little armenia but yesterday i went down to the port and walked along to padang kota lama, a big park overlooking the ocean. four or five different groups were doing tai chi and it looked like a terribly complicated choreographed dance to see all of them moving at once. i sat by the sea and looked at the wharves. i sat on a ledge above the grey sand and when i stood up to leave the backs of my thighs were greasy with some kind of residue

i think i wanted to say something about the contrast between the chaos of traffic and language and the juice boxes in the gutters and the bougainvillea poking through the fences and the dead rats with exploded guts VS the rhythms of all this, the men swinging their hands back and forth to get the blood flowing in the morning, the tide, a jerry can bobbing in the water, my pen scratching, the man turning the roti canai in a tiny oven with a metal implement that strikes evenly against the grille like a metronome, but i can’t really remember what the point of any of it was, i guess i was thinking about sounds and patterns.

jennifer

(sorry about my janky feet)