Beijing.
Commuting city.
Sidewalks
soaking with human sea, endless tyres ballet, masks, crazy shoes, spits.
Beijing grey lid absorbs everything.
Discipline
in the middle of chaos, organised traffic jam, Beijing drowns itself in slow
motion in its thick fog, piling up conditioned live sliding silently in the
mist.
And the
time stops in this Temple. So many prayers in this place. Old stones and
incenses.
We’re finally there.
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