went for Indian food last night and the first bite with the cilantro dip sent my mind swimming back to the intersection in Sector 3, sitting in a rickshaw outside of Songan, smelling the haze and smoke from the kebab restaurant on the other side of the street. hearing the horns and bells, ringing like a choir with no direction and told to keep playing and playing until the streets are too dark. potholes and piles of crushed bricks, puddles and oil, the garbage on the side of the road. a strange contrast to the world outside. bright, clean interiors, dark, dirty streets. smiling inside, smiling all the way back. because the ride there was fun, the food was good, the ride back was calming even in the dust and noise. things you'd go back to. things much simpler than your own. leaving one city to find another waiting. rain clouds hanging low, unsure of the direction they want to go. standing on the rooftop watching it all blow down. seeing smiles and laughter, sights, sounds, friends. sleeping in nets and knowing that the morning will wait for you with something new. voices at the table, and the day starts again. one bite. one taste. countless memories.