Green means go

Even the straight men call me handsome. The children pet my arm hair with wide brown eyes, the words, “Gold, Gold,” escaping from their lips. White people walk up and say hello, happy to meet any stranger who understands their English.

The streets are fast, the temples slow, red walk lights trigger traffic. The sidewalks are a strip mall, selling socks, stuffed animals, and cell phone key chain deckles. Fish and fried potato on a stick are served in tents with a single row of bar stools. Even the psychics sit on pavement, flipping tarot cards under a cascade of translucent pink flowing fabric.

The buildings shoot up, each floor filled with business. Neon lights pour down the windows, creating dizziness in back alleys. It all seems shiny new, but has been here almost forever.

For now I’ll reside to follow the flow of foot traffic, and see which way it takes me.