I envisioned an overcrowded Chinatown, and those glazed shiny ducks rotating around in the display windows of the restaurants. I remember feeling mournful for the ducks; their skin dripping with grease and crackling, the flames scorching their meat to the bone like a sacrifice for all to see. I would stop mid-stride against the determined shoppers and think, “that’s really fucking disgusting.” But today, I’m totally convinced those ducks had it way better than I did. For on this day I would find myself on a bus without working air conditioning—stuffed in the middle bunk of twelve sleeping compartments. Even though I had survived New York City summers,
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