Losing my feet.

Every step that takes me further makes me lighter.

Every time I start walking through the streets I'm in danger of losing my feet. The streets are so full and I'm continually amazed by the quantity of everything. I still don't know how to protect myself from this profusion. How can I understand this place without splitting myself into the multiplicity of things that come at me like bullets?
I keep on walking down the narrow streets, past the coffee joints and the stray cats eating in the street. The speakers scream, the cars honk loudly as they brush past. Boys on bicycles balance baskets of bread on their heads. An old lady sells paper handkerchiefs from the ground. There's the sweet smell of the water pipes mixed with the cardamom from the coffee houses. People ask me where I'm from, and I smile without answering. Every step that takes me further makes me lighter. My hands begin to tingle. I order a glass of sugar juice on the corner of the street.

Losing my feet.



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