Sustaining

This life can be a dance, or a vale of tears, and sometimes it is both of these at the same time. Regardless of which, the dance does not go on without sustenance.

I left the War Remnants Museum with a heavy heart and aimed my very tired feet in the direction of home. Yes, my hotel, whichever current, is home. Strung across the back roads and cities of Asia are a series of rooms I have called home.

I realized I was hungry, a good thing, and also that I had meant to find a joint I had read about on Travelfish, a place specializing in soft-shelled crab. And yet it was back towards the river, another long loop away from my hotel. "Feet be damned" sez I (they, my feet, protested). "Silence!" sez I, and back we turned.

Another long walk, the place was found, and a scrumptious splurge of stir fried crab and noodles dropped in front of me. Nothing but locals in this place, occasionally smiling at me as I enjoyed my repast.

Now was truly the time to head for home. I even contemplated a taxi, but settled on the idea of hopping a bus part of the way. I twisted through a few small streets as the sky darkened and the winds picked up.

I was rewarded with one of my favorite Asian street sights, an open air billiard parlour glowing from the inside. I watched the game awhile, not fully grasping the late afternoon quickly darkening.

As I walked on I did not recognize how the day would change.