Rush Central April 19
Dear Dad,
in this city packed with people, ceiling to floor, reaching to the skies, I awake to the pounding of construction, an industrial soundtrack of drills, jackhammers and knocks, sounds which filter down through the hotel’s plumbing.
The days are hot. Any respite from the heat is afforded in the air conditioned comfort of shopping malls and restaurants, but some cannot escape its omnipresence.
The hazy clouds hold the heat like a greenhouse, slowly stewing the citizens below,
who packed like sardines in cans, hold onto dreams of fortunes and wealth.
At night, the people come to play, by the riverside, under bridges and in the streets.
Towers of lights cluster the sky, they’re the only stars I’ll see tonight.