Guangzhou: Cold Streets and Golden Arches
China unfolds in symbols—boxes and sticks, a language more architecture than words. Street signs, restaurant menus, glowing phone screens flicker with WeChat convos, a blur of symbols both hypnotic and indecipherable. I try to untangle it, but my brain refuses to cooperate. The air thickens with the scent of half-smoked cigarettes, chili oil, and pork fat, something deep-fried, something fermented, and something strange but meant to be consumed anyway. A butcher hacks through bone with the precision of a man who’s done it a thousand times. E-scooters glide past, their riders ghosts in the mist. The occasional passive-aggressive ring of a bell slices through the quiet, warning pedestrians who couldn’t care less. Tesla look-alikes zip through traffic, their drivers navigating with an instinctual recklessness, stopping wherever they feel like. No rules. China feels like it’s already living in 2050. The city hums with relentless efficiency and progress, where ancient t...