There are too many people here. Streets are crowded with vendors and an indelible smell thickens. Buildings are painted a faint blue, or pink; they rise upwards, lofty and erratic. On the balcony of my hotel their roofs are speckled; one of every color.
Outlandish art fills sun-glazed shops. Some are only twenty feet wide. Motorbikes wiz down the cracked roads with intimidating speed. I look up to the knotted powerlines strung above cluttering the backdrop of twine green trees.
In the humidity, there is no fresh air. I can scarcely breathe. Here is a city impractically shaped, a different world, but the tender is coming as I descend further.
In the interior is Birla Orphanage where laughter spreads. The children wade gigantic waves on the shore of Do Son Beach. Mucky water sticks to the sand on our skin.
A boy, three feet tall, beautiful bright brown eyes peers into my life. I do not know his language, the most we can do is share gaping smiles as this city unfolds its secrets to me.
Critiques are welcomed and encouraged. yes, please!