morning glory

the no doubt soon-to-be world renowned manhood under criticism special clinic has finally been officially approved by the american board of sexicology. it was no easy feat procuring the scientific support from one of western medicine's great institutions, though in the end it appears as though our boys on park street pulled it off. just a half block away, the roman catholic archdiocese publicizes its neighborly presence in bold neon green. st thomas may have been a semite, but he got down on some spicey shit. across the bustling avenue, a plastic eight-foot charred green dragon emerges from its necromantically crumbling tree-lawn flowerpot, its broken tail revealing the cast-iron interior that is sure it outlive the lively expression of its extraskeletal visitor. an emaciated man of dubious age is squatting barefoot on the sidewalk, his weathered knuckles nestle the cement as he gets his morning shave. calcutta is late to rise and i made the mistake of catching the early train to work to wander the neighborhood and grab a quick bite before my first day of work. i stroll up and down the avenue, clutching my 15 cent liter of water and sucking in the foul fumes of (my own) vice and (someone else's) exhaust in the midmorning sauna of pre-monsoon calcutta. the only kitchens in business at this hour are the bubbling sidewalk cauldrons of yet-to-be-yank-observed liquid, and i havent got to the heart to give them a go without the approval of a local mate. (oh and by sidewalk, well, they're on the sidewalk). alas, ill have to teach the kiddies global warming on an empty stomach and wait for my McRajasthan until the afternoon (how I failed you once again, enlightened citizenry of the world!). seeing as im a bit rusty on fossil fuels myself, i decide to pay wiki a visit...

the NGO that runs my school is only about 5 blocks off of a main thoroughfare, though the circumstances of such a short urban trot are dire. before i leave the avenue, however, i stop off to get a few stamps on the odd chance that ill encounter someone selling postcards or the like within city limits (as of yet, ive counted only 6 other 'western foreigners' in 4 days - all but one in the metro and none after 10am!). its still only 830, though the pestilential heat has already subsumed the ill-light and fan-donned confines of bureaucratic corners large and small. my postal attendant perspires with equal perspicacity and inquires as to my national whereaboots. "im from the US," I tell him, expecting a look of relief upon hearing it wasnt Cornwall. "tell the micheal jordan i say hello," he says, wiping his brow with a warm smile.