in Singapore

When I landed at Changi there were only two small traces of cloud, in the far distance to my right. The sign on the doors of the gates proclaimed in large letters that Changi is A380-ready. I was out in minutes, as always. The taxi-driver told me it isn't raining all that much.

I'd arrived early, the rooms weren't ready, so I had to wait. I went outside. At eight in the morning only Starbucks was open. It looked like it might rain. I sensed another, presently inaudible rumble: cars revving up; buses starting at their terminals; and subway trains—all starting at various points on this small island to converge here, on Orchard Road. I looked at all the hotels around me where people would be bathing, dressing, eating, getting ready to soon throng and rock this place. I stood there and and deeply inhaled the moment.

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