Twenty students are racing through central Lima at night. The streets are packed with people, couples, children, cars, horns blaring, the smell of burnt corn, sugar, fried chicken, garbage. The sweating basement of the seafood restaurant I used to work at, sometimes cigarette smoke, some respite. Couples are laying down in the park without blankets holding each other on sparse and immoderately green grass from an excess of moisture not a lack. Twenty metres in every direction the thick mist takes on the character of the whole: boiling orange and green, green light. I keep thinking, the city is on fire, the city is on fire.
Jon, our pirate captain, is leading the charge, torn leather jacket and ponytail, waving his flag in the air for all to hurry. I watch our caring TA at the back of the pack, making sure none are left behind. I see my classmates dive across the street in flocks, ready for anything. I hear Jon scream:and hurriedly jot it down on my phone as I hobble after them. I tell Jon I’ve never been to a city like this before. He says: where are you from? Vancouver. He laughs. Vancouver is not a city! Vancouver is a town pretending to be a city! Right then I had the crazy feeling I didn’t know if I’d ever been to a real city before.
All the night my nose is lightly running and when I sit my temperature fevers. I should be more concerned about spreading whatever I have to other people. I justify that it just feels like a personal fever, something that I brought upon myself and is only my duty to deal with. Yet it feels just like the city. My labour adjusting to the city. And the city is beautiful.
I wonder if you all feel the same?