Perfect Day
I hear soft drums tapping Nepali rhythms, a whimsical, meandering flute dances above it. Masala-scented breeze would chill me if not for the afternoon sun gently browning me. Suddenly, I am tempted to write “Namaste!” on a paper airplane and send it soaring down to the men gathered on the neighboring rooftop.
We are definitely not in China anymore. We had salty popcorn yesterday!