You remember hiding behind a bicycle rack. It was nighttime at the airport. You really only felt the move physically at first. No sense of doom. Your pride at learning English all by yourself. Before, your father would video call the rest of your family from the apartments near the University where he worked, and you’d talk over the Pacific. Wondering for reunion. No sense of doom.

See also: Dear city, | I might describe it as a wave | crawl prospect