Walking through the metallic doors, with grey lunch bag in hand, and backpack slung over relaxing shoulders. Shuffling down the stairs, step by step. Head up and I feel the breeze. I see the cotton candy skies embedding my soul. I hear the tune from Singapore days, with the orange skies seeping into my blood stream like 10 am mimosas, and walking through the pillars, the talking becoming musical, the fried donuts drifting through the air. The lion through a two year old’s eyes. The hole in the wall and before me, chicken rice.
Just Typing 