gutted

it’s raining. again. i like it when it rains. or maybe i don’t. it’s nice, how the water slushes away all the dirt, rotting banana leaves, indomie wrappers, swallow sandals, off the streets and into the gutters. except there are no gutters, so they’re all on the streets.

i’m in ciledug and i have to get to benhil in about 30 minutes. that’s like going from the 20th arrondisement to le premier. except there’s no métro, no taxis when it rains (theoretically there is an express taxi pool in jombang, 10 minutes away from my house, but try it, try dial 57990707, if someone picks up on your first attempt, you can have this blog), and often i see the bright orange transjakarta buses carve through the legendary lapis legit-thick traffic of jalan ciledug raya, but i often have real conversations with my dead grandmother, too. at le versailles. while enjoying the sights of exhausted tourists seeking refuge at the jardin du luxembourg.

not that i mind catching the s69 metro mini to singgalang and then a taxi tarif lama to benhil, or a c01 kopabun over the kebayoran lama fly-over, jumping off the back of the curving suzuki carry at the velbak u-turn, and then try not to get decapitated while crossing the road at pakubuwono by the same s69 going at the speed of light towards blok m—the imminence of death only makes me feel even more alive.

it’s just that when it rains everything is so slow. like you’ve got mud on your shoes. you have got mud on your shoes. the city is prettier, you know, like cole porter said, ‘it sizzles in the dry season, and it drizzles in the wet season.’ i prefer drizzles over sizzles anytime. but when you have to get to places, like me today, like in life, rain is not your best friend. more like a cling-y boyfriend that holds you back.

this city is like a cling-y boyfriend that holds you back.

and i’m the monkey taking a leisurely ride on his back.