i. At first glance, a highly efficient, pedestrian city. Across busy highways, crosswalks are substituted for land bridges, plastered all over with advertisements for laundry detergent, a new film about growing pains, unpopular slogans for the socialist party. The Octopus card works for everything—now only if my metrocard could get me a juice at the CVS round the corner.
ii. The vertical high rises repeat themselves in various combinations of pastel, seemingly almost sarcastic hues masquerading the impatience of the passersby and taxi drivers. They compete to see which is higher, and we speculate that there must be at least one that surpasses fifty stories. There is a marked difference between the tourists and the local folk; the former walk looking up and latter walk looking down. At Wanchai, a little off Johnston road, an impatient driver honks at us, probably because we look like tourists.
iii. Turtle jelly glistens black, but rolls off the tongue sweet. The local delicacy is repurposed to a drink for the elderly and to bite-sized candies for small children. At deeper perusal, a compassionate city.