17/08/2026
shanghai in summer is humid and syrupy. the city moves slower than you’d expect — slower than it should, for somewhere this big, this lit up, this loud, this alive. food on every corner, with a different smell drifting out from each: deep fried, maybe, then spiced, fragrant.
in the french concession, the trees do the work of saving you from the heat. people file underneath them in lines, shuffling along like little ducks.
at the bund, the skyline is almost too much — colorful and pulsing and full, people everywhere, synapses firing. you get drunk on it, in a way.