is it weird?

to like that vexatious sensation
of sweat coating your clothes
sticking to your arms
your legs
so your hair is
cemented
to your face
your skin
laminated
with a sheen of
transudation, perspiration
all by virtue of it not being
within your comfort zone

so you’ll be forced to delve into life

to inhale deeply
the scent of rain
on cement
on hot pavement
of a dirty city in July
the constant state of smog
weighing you down
so you can take the
time and notice
each person trekking by
trudging
through the tides
of a city street
through each
miniature
kaleidoscopic ocean

the smell of a
sodden subway station
of each being’s
waterlogged clothes
draped
on their
head
body

the satisfaction of being
sheltered
in a mechanically
illuminated cave

no way to air-dry

to wander alone
in the city
naught to do
so time
lingers

slower

than

usual