“In this air, you only get to breathe properly at night. Sometimes, my night slip slowly sticks to my skin like a deep jelly that’s about to drip. I can feel the sweat becoming part of my attire, like a gown that’s too hard to undress, like peach syrup melting under skimpy sun. The city has no smell and my fragrance dissolves itself nearly before touching my neck. I’m getting new freckles on my nose and cheeks, and while all languages of the world collapse in my head like providential rain, I still ache for cold sea breezes and unfinished sympathies with strangers in trains.