This place is tall.
I am on the seventeenth floor and there is a road above my window.
It's a technologically advance place, maybe one of the most on the planet, but they still have old style ring pulls on drinks cans, how 1980's
The supermarkets have lots of greens.
My chop stick skills led to a fork been brought to my table.
Two of my best shirts have splatters from dumplings or chicken legs plopping back down into soup or curry.
The roads don't seem very bike friendly.
The satellite villages have sky scrappers, cloud itchers.
The beer is good and cheap.
Concrete, so many small, tall apartment blocks. Every bit of flat land expanded upwards.
My washing detergent won all the independent tests apart from 'milk/blood'.
Roaring, flaming cooking fires, flash cook beautiful fish.
Bustling market, fake, cheap copies.
Car horn impatience.
Gambling island Las Vegas.
Portuguese mo pad, yellow and red building influence.
Long working hours. Silent lift accents.
Pollution burning lungs, underground the world on the MTR.