Scenes from the special administrative region

The sidewalk sinks under a thousand storefronts stretching towards all their bare brick friends. Enough for each touring pedestrian to reach arms up and rip one down. Glow ads for all things sold: batteries, film, McDonald’s, and dancing ladies. The money marches on.

Palm trees stick their fingers into clothing draped to get dry in the warm. The paint decays waiting for renewal unrestored. All the windows blink at me with stories never told.

Camera strap like the other tourists, walk cross parks and yellow lines. Watch the morning run to mid day meetings on the subway, listen to two supermarket songs on repeat.

Sit down on an empty merchant chair, write yesterday’s blog.