08.17.12, Shanghai. Hot, sticky air, the singular blend of ultramodern, utilitarian and deco. An after-dinner walk across wet asphalt in People’s Square - hosed down for the night while the tired, shirtless shopkeepers pile up steaming trash in another day’s aftermath. A first glimpse behind the neon curtain and I’m already in love as I drop dead on the stiff hotel mattress.

08.17.12, Shanghai. Hot, sticky air, the singular blend of ultramodern, utilitarian and deco. An after-dinner walk across wet asphalt in People’s Square - hosed down for the night while the tired, shirtless shopkeepers pile up steaming trash in another day’s aftermath. A first glimpse behind the neon curtain and I’m already in love as I drop dead on the stiff hotel mattress.

08.17.12, Shanghai. Hot, sticky air, the singular blend of ultramodern, utilitarian and deco. An after-dinner walk across wet asphalt in People’s Square - hosed down for the night while the tired, shirtless shopkeepers pile up steaming trash in another day’s aftermath. A first glimpse behind the neon curtain and I’m already in love as I drop dead on the stiff hotel mattress.

08.17.12, Shanghai. Hot, sticky air, the singular blend of ultramodern, utilitarian and deco. An after-dinner walk across wet asphalt in People’s Square - hosed down for the night while the tired, shirtless shopkeepers pile up steaming trash in another day’s aftermath. A first glimpse behind the neon curtain and I’m already in love as I drop dead on the stiff hotel mattress.

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