Things to which I have not yet grown accustomed:

Armed guards on every corner, but only near the rich kids’ university, banks, and bridges. They are young and have red, exhausted eyes.

Covers missing from every utility hole in the city except those that have been welded shut. You do learn quickly – look down, look up, look down, always be looking.

Toothless children too old to be awaiting their second set.

Lines a city block long that wind up at the phone company’s door.

The explosion of humanity that awaits in wide plazas and on narrow streets.

Sudden mountains, verdant and so near. They recede for most of the day, then reappear at sunset when the waning glow catches the silvery branches of the trees that still cover their upper slopes. The city encroaches quickly, tries to stop and catch its breath – will it be able?