It's complete filth, complete infestation and grime, crawling with all sorts of microscopic creatures. And you wallow in it because you don't really have a choice. And the streets are lined with shit and pee and curry-paste and the pitter patter of tourists and locals alike. And yes, I'm filth. I rot into the background with all the others, somewhere in between pavement and ocean. And it's raining again- and all that filth accumulates, grows, sucks in the moisture and it speaks to you. And at first, it sounds like grumbling, a machine, a vacuum two houses down? But, if you stop and it's quiet right after the rain, the heavy downfall, and then the silence that follows, you can hear it as it speaks to you, opening it's hot mouth, "Drink, sit." And the shop-keeper glares at you, opens her wrinkled mouth and echoes, "Drink, sit." And you do.
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