From where I stood, I could only see a sea of people, everyone rushing without running. There were shops and signs in English. Even though it is a Chinese city. With blonde heads popping up in a mosh pit of black.

The city was humid and the streets were as packed as the air was thick. Everyone had their own story to tell as to why they were there but no one was asking, so they just moved along. As you looked back you saw that the hole in the sky of openness got smaller and smaller until eventually the horizon was nothing but people.

One could hear languages both understandable and intelligible. The negotiations between shopkeeper and shop visister, backpackers taking the lay of the land, people running from and to everywhere, united by the old shaky stones beneath all of them.

The smell of fresh steam food and trash mixed together to produce a city’s air.

Hong Kong awoke in the morning as the sun rose on everyone’s faces, the time was impossible, the city never really went to sleep either.

The streets were filled and the crowds were lively, business as usual, the day’s events melting into memory with all the rest.