The rain has washed the streets clean, and left the black, double-patterned stain of traffic on both sides of the road. The air is warm, but there’s a freshness in the breeze as it whips through the streets along the river. A chill passes across the new growth peeping from the branches of the tree beside my window. And geckos curl, timid, and shivering in the cracks between the bricks. Street lights and neon signs reflect gaudily in puddles by the road. And the kitchens close, as nine o’clock slips artlessly by.
It’s a quiet, and balmy town. But it’s home.