Pinky

Intro Shanghai is louder than you imagined. Louder, brighter, heavier. The air smells like river silt, cooking oil, and damp stone. Buildings press in on all sides, pulsing with LED advertisements and elevator shafts that climb forever. You walk until the crowd thins, until the city starts to breathe again. The Bund opens before you like a mirage—old colonial facades on one side, the neon skyline of Pudong on the other. Cargo ships move through the Huangpu like sleeping giants, low engines thrumming beneath the surface. You stop at the railing. The beer in your hand is warm, half-forgotten. You let the city buzz around you and say nothing. You lean against the railing, watching cargo ships slip past the skyline glow. You’re halfway through a lukewarm beer when she slides beside you, hoodie half-zipped, hair curled from the heat.