They’re lurking at each stop: a sea of expatriate Americans who will reveal their ignorance with zeal. They natter at me in their unbroken English, then indulge in outdoor drinking sprees “just for the novelty.” Stars in this tourist sky bleached out by city lights again. Coins weigh down my pockets with their elusive value, and it inspires me to spend them all on more alcohol. Until I can barely stand. Until my landscape is not land. Just the sounds of passing things. Just remembering... stars in the swollen sky reach out for you tonight, again. These countries passing like a film unspooled by hand, coloured by your absence, I...suddenly I’m learning how something that makes a constant sound becomes a default silence then, as it repeats again and again and again. Stars in another sky shine for your distant eyes, again.
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