Walkin' and Talkin' under the red sun part 2

In a big city there is those crowds and circles that remind me of the cities I have seen before. It is obvious that the states have infected China, palliating those erroneous verve's towards capitalism. By little doses we can all be saved. They have the makings of the new world, but still revile in the consanguinity of that ancient ancestry. It is bustling, Xi’an, millions of walkers and talkers gawking and oo’ing those structures that we take for granted. They still eye me as I pass, but in the city, they see their share of the world. It is in small increments, but it is there. I am bumped and shoved and skidded over so that everyone can get to where they are going. Just like home. Taxi’s litter the streets like lice curtly speeding passed as though they don’t see my arm, just like home. The American cuisine is at it’s best, Pizza Hut, Dairy Queen, MCD’s, all topnotch establishments offering similar western wares, but at a price much steeper than the usually dinner out. The waitresses smile warmly, sweating profusely, darting here and there. The food is quite good, better than I remember. Perhaps the culture hopes to fool the people into what America really is, not making good food, just some substance to give you that push and extra pounds to continue living on meagerly. Anomalous manners perpetuate, but it is something I need to get used to. As I traveled with my companions to the restaurants and stores and bars and clubs, I couldn’t help but do two things. Compare them to their alternatives at home, and overall most are pretty similar. Restaurants are quaint and delicious, stores are trendy and infuriating, and bars and clubs are full of drunken buffoons dancing and laughing, and trying to be included, get laid, or forget everything. I then remember all the drunken buffoons I have back home and how I miss them and wish they can sit and drink with me. I cheers all those back home. Walking at night, the city lite up by the convenient stores buzzing, and damp street lights, it reminded me of all those memories assailing me, even in such convivial atmospheres. Lack of sleep breaches all thirsty souls seeking that “love” or “attachment” that binds the feet but also gives us a place to rest. Trains are hectic. We are all caged in wishing for a bit of rest on a tight compartment full of others. I just happened to be the “other” other. It is annoying being gawked at every moment, can’t they at least look away when I look, but I guess I would stare if I noticed a stranger. Is it curiosity? Anxiety? Dislike? I just want to be homogeneous within this new structure since I already feel like enough of an outsider as it is. I need that feeling of home that gaps an ocean without effort, I already lost my map, my companion didn’t, couldn’t come, it is lonely alone on a skiff heading everywhere. I guess it is for the best, or at least I will keep telling myself that.