Fragment discovered while looking for something else
The city shines at night, and I watch the cars flow like soothing fish east and west on the freeway, weaving the dense fabric of loneliness. The money dribbles into my bank account, while the antiseptic city drains me of human emotions, stabbing me with detestable nostalgia. I talk to the same few people everyday, and I miss the bustle of India. When foreigners come to India they are shocked viscerally by the sheer number of people around them: I am suffering from the shock of finding clean spaces, shorn of people. And vapid colours, concrete and not surprising, bright, warm, mine.