Sitting on the MRT just looking at them. They shine so nicely. Like your beautiful wife that was almost a trophy, but so much more valuable. Like the combined smiles of your twin sons. Like your daughter's black, black eyes.
Life's easy. Just running the family business, as usual, isn't it? You get off at your stop and wonder why everyone's always in such a hurry, almost running for those escalators when they finally penguin waddle push their way out of the subway car with a practiced frantic ease that you can almost taste in the back of your throat.
Like the drip of a smell.
Shoe polish in the windpipe.
I'm standing by the light change, surrounded on all sides by a sea of faceless people that just don't care that th